


Ease The Dawn Part 2

by Inforapoundd



Series: Ease The Dawn [2]
Category: Vikings (TV)
Genre: Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Death, Did I Mention Angst?, Drama, Enemies to Lovers, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Human Sacrifice, Ivar smut, Love, Romance, Slow Burn, Smut, bad king, ivar - Freeform, king ivar
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-14
Updated: 2020-04-29
Packaged: 2020-10-16 22:54:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 18
Words: 37,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20610710
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Inforapoundd/pseuds/Inforapoundd
Summary: Part 2 to the Ease The Dawn series. Ivar is King of Kattegat. Aethelswith struggles to find her place among strangers in a foreign land. Confronted by her Christian ties and an unbroken marriage, she must find her way and navigate the storm of a dominating lover surrounded by wolves in sheep's clothing.





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just a reminder that I am new to writing and Ease The Dawn is my first story. I do plan on editing again soon. Thanks for reading.

The meeting had droned on nearly an hour longer than necessary. Distracted for most of it, Ivar still gave the vague impression that he would entertain his advisor's recommendations. Of course, he would not. He would do what he had decided before the show of a gathering even started. After all, he was the King of Kattegat.

The room cleared and Hvitserk was last to rise from his seat making his way past Ivar toward the door.

"I need woman advice," Ivar said over his shoulder. Discomfort obvious in his posture.

"I am the man for the job." Hvitserk slapped his hand down on Ivar's shoulder.

"Do not touch me." Ivar spat.

Returning to his seat, Hvitserk pulled it forward to face his brother, a little closer than they had been previously sitting. It had been years since Ivar had spoken to him about anything unnecessary or not relating to strategy or battles or the army. And, one could hardly describe it as speaking. Ivar gave Hvitserk commands. For the most part, he followed them. It was simply easier, and he had made his choices long ago. As foolish as it had been. Nodding his head, Hvitserk was set. He was going to provide his brother the best and most earnest council he could.

Swallowing with difficulty, Ivar shifted in his seat, looking like he might about-face and leave.

"It is about Aethelswith." He swallowed again, looking into his cup. "Obviously." His eyes shot up to meet Hvitserk's. "I worry that I think about her too much. Far too much. And," he hesitated, "that I am crazed."

Nodding in understanding, Hvitserk inhaled loudly through his nose.

"Ivar," he exhaled, "this is natural. You care very much for her."

"I am sick with thoughts of her body," Ivar rushed, running a hand over his tight braids.

"She is a beautiful woman. It is also natural." Pressing his lips into a flat smile, Hvitserk took a long pull from his cup.

"Since bedding her, I can barely think of anything else."

Air rushed out from Hvitserk's nose and he coughed, spurting ale out onto the floor between his legs. "You fucked her?" His eyes were wide with shock.

Ivar grinned at his reaction. Boyish pride breaking through over his discomfort talking on such a personal topic.

"This is amazing. No wonder you cannot stop thinking of her." Hvitserk smiled genuinely pleased. "Congratulations, little brother. Ubbe would be so proud."

Ivar's expression dimmed at the mention of their older brother, but he said nothing.

"Did it start at the camp?" Hvitserk asked.

"No, not until we returned here. Well, we were together there but not together, together.... with our whole bodies together, until we returned here."

Pressing his tongue to the roof of his mouth, Hvitserk prevented himself from laughing at his little brother's dithering.

"All that time sleeping close to her in that tent." He raised one eyebrow, "Gods Ivar, you must have been in love."

"We are in love!" Ivar snapped but simmered quickly. Running his tongue back and forth over his lower lip, he fiddled with the cup in his hand. "At first it was once every several days." Ivar eyed Hvitserk as if assessing whether it was safe to continue.

With a slight bow of the head, Hvitserk indicated he was following.

"I was not able to.... more than that. Then it became every couple of nights and now it is every night and it still does not feel like enough. I think of nothing else!"

Hvitserk closed his eyes a moment, flaring his nostrils as he breathed out. "Ivar, I think about it throughout the day. Constantly. I have thought about it several times since you started talking."

"Do not dare think of my woman like that," Ivar seethed through gritted teeth, pointing his finger toward his brother.

"Easy," Hvitserk held his free hand up. "I have my own women to worry about. I was speaking in general terms."

Forcing out a long breath, Ivar shook his head at his own thoughts. "I do not have to even touch her or feel her hands on me, and I am aroused. She walked passed where I sat in the hall yesterday and just the shape of her body and the way she moved had me straining in my pants." Shaking his head, he looked down, fidgeting with a stitch on the seam of his cuff. "I felt unprepared." He looked back up to Hvitserk. "I never understood why you and the others chased woman so much, but I am starting to see."

"You have never experienced anything like this before?" Hvitserk asked, understanding that for Ivar, physical attraction and function were different than for himself and his brothers.

"I have admired woman's appearances before, obviously no one as beautiful as Aethelswith, but I have certainly never been an insane person over it. And now," Ivar leaned forward in his chair, "I find myself inflamed even when I wake."

Hvitserk grinned.

"Are you mocking me? Is this funny?" Ivar snapped.

"I swear to you brother, I am not mocking you. It is not funny and I am not laughing." Hvitserk, steadied his face knowing Ivar was being sincere. "Are you saying that you wake up with a hard cock?"

"Yes!" he hissed.

"Great!" Hvitserk declared, throwing a hand into the air. "Use it."

Huffing, Ivar ran his hand, again, over his tight braids, shifting his eyes to look around the room. He looked back to Hvitserk.

"But she is sleeping, and I wake early. There is so much that I am responsible for now." He sighed loudly.

"Brother, I think all that is happening is wonderful. Healthy even. She was destined for you. She has sparked your virility. Embrace it. Enjoy it. Wake her up with your hard cock. This is something all men go through in their lives." Hvitserk paused choosing his next words with care. "It just took the right woman to kindle this desire in you. I went through this when I was seventeen. I was never in love with anyone like you are with Aethelswith, but I was a mad man for women. I would stick it in anyone who let me. Even some who wouldn't."

"But the images, Hvitserk. They are intrusive. I cannot concentrate and I must be sharp. I am King."

"Okay, okay. Describe these images and I will tell you if they sound normal and what to do." Sitting back in his chair, Hvitserk crossed one leg over the other, ready to council.

Nodding, Ivar looked focussed.

"I just have to close my eyes and I see flashes of her sweet mouth or her delicate throat, her beautiful tummy. How she kisses me. Gods!" he exclaimed. "I hear her whimpers in my head. The way she calls my name. It kills me. It kills me," he paused to take a deep breath, exhaling slowly. "How her round breasts bounce when we are moving together...you know.... vigorously. And her legs. They are so smooth," he growled under his breath, adjusting in his seat. "And what is between them, brother, I would say it rivals Valhalla. It does. It must."

"We are going to need another drink," Hvitserk uttered softly, his eyes round and his mind fixated on Ivar's description.

Snapping to, Hvitserk grabbed the jug of ale on the nearby table, filling their cups roughly. Sitting back down, he gulped half the cup and paused, holding a finger up to indicate he needed another moment. Finishing his drink, he set it down on the armrest of his chair and cleared his throat loudly.

"I see that this is new and not yet totally comfortable. I assure you, Ivar, there is nothing wrong with you. You are not a crazed person. This aspect of your union with Aethelswith is recent and very exciting. Shit, it sounds very exciting. Things will settle though. I assure you. Enjoy these thrilling days with your woman. It may even result in a child."

"Nothing would make me happier," Ivar murmured, looking down at the floor.

"She has a husband...."

"HAD!" Ivar barked, snapping out of his thoughts. "She no longer has a husband. I will be her husband."

"Okay, I understand," Hvitserk said obsequiously. "Is she...ahhh... versed?"

"Not at all. I was essentially her first," Ivar said in a serious tone.

"I see. So, you are learning and experimenting with what you like? Yes?"

"In a way," Ivar answered, clearly uncertain.

Stifling a smile, the image of Ivar as a young boy flashed through Hvitserk's mind. Long before the family crumbled and Ivar hardened. This conversation, for certain, would be held in his heart for the rest of his life.

"Two nights ago," Ivar continued, "Aethelswith came to bed and she was smiling and playing coy. She had spent the afternoon with that slave friend of hers picking berries. She said that this thrall had told her about things to try. She kissed me something fierce that night. Smacked my hands away anytime I tried to grab her. Slid her mouth and tongue down my chest, biting my nipples and then went down....further down." Ivar's eyes widened. "She took me in her mouth, brother!" he exasperated, his eyes bright with excitement. "I have heard the men talk of such things but to experience it was something else. I felt touched by the Gods." Breathing in deeply, he slowly exhaled again. "She had me worked up and as I was finishing in her mouth, she pulled my balls and it felt like a snap of lightning shot down my cock. Then, she drank my seed!" Ivar leaned back in his chair looking flushed and satisfied from reliving the experience in his mind.

"Well," Hvitserk looked stunned, his brows lifted. "That sounds..." he rubbed his hand over his face and back up and over his tied hair, "I think ....you need to marry this girl."

"I will make her my queen. I already call her my wife but it must be official. Very soon," he answered in a stern voice. But..." he hesitated. "Okay, here is my next question," he sat forward in his chair. "How do I make it last..."

"Longer?" Hvitserk cut in.

Ivar nodded.

"That will come with practice and slowing down at the right times. Changing positions. Do you want to know my trick?"

Nodding, Ivar titled forward and Hvitserk looked around in a dramatic way, ensuring no one was privy to their conversation.

"Just as I am about to spill and I start to feel that twitch," he paused to exaggerate the suspense, "I picture your face, Ivar."

"Fuck off!" Ivar yelled breaking into a genuine laugh.

Chuckling, Hvitserk's laugh simmered into a sweet smile. "Ivar, here is a question for you? Who is Aethelswith's slave friend?"

.


	2. Chapter 2

"My hands are cold," Ivar whispered into the back of Aethelswith's neck. Sliding his hand up her side, he cupped her thinly covered breast. Sighing languidly, he closed his eyes, every part of his body craving her.

"And that is for warming them?" she whispered, eyes still closed as she dozed, enjoying the warmth beneath the heavy furs. Her lover's broad chest tight to her back and the brightness of the days' first light filtering through the wooden shutters.

"Odin would not have made them the size of my hand if they were not meant to rest there."

"Why do you think Odin made my breasts?" she smiled, not opening her eyes.

"Because he favours me."

"So, he made them for you?"

"No, he made you for me."

"Ah."

Smoothing his nose across the skin of her shoulder, he inhaled her scent, his mind felt at peace, utterly at ease and he knew, with every part of his being, that there would never be an end to his devotion to her. Nor his bottomless need to have her close, pressed together, as they were now, with the door locked and the world shuttered out, his lips sweeping across her ivory skin. Her soft mews, imprinted in his head.

Pushing her chest forward to stretch, her smile morphed into a yawn. Lifting his head from the pillow, he buried his face into the front of her throat, her pulse softly fluttering away under his tongue.

"Can I put my cock in you?"

"Ivar!" she laughed.

"Yes?" unable to hold his smile, he grated his teeth across her neck.

"Do not say such things."

"Why?"

"It is indecent."

"We can do indecent things, but we cannot speak of them?"

"Yes." She could feel the smirk on his face.

"Why?" he feigned confusion, greedy to hear her laugh again.

"I have no answer to that."

"You Christians are so fickle." Tilting his head, his lips gently pulled the skin of her ear. "So, I should just be Viking and not ask?"

Saying nothing, she pushed her bottom back into his bulging groin, instantly making him grind forward, his breath picking up against her ear.

"I see," he uttered, pushing his manhood against her. "Turn your head woman, I want to taste you."

Turning her upper body toward him, he pressed his mouth to hers. Unhurried, his upper lip traced across her pink lips, parting her mouth with his own, forcing him moan. The sound reminded Aethelswith of the purr of the kittens he had gifted her not long after their arrival.

Sliding his hand between her breasts and over her warm stomach, he grabbed the loose fabric of her nightdress, pulling and bunching it up over her waist. Pushing down the front of his linen trousers, he freed his stiff erection, pulling her harder against him. His mind drifted, as it sometimes did, to the countless nights and mornings he had spent alone before her. The anguish that was his life previous to her, asking the gods about his future and the purpose of his suffering. Knowing now, that the moment she had jumped from that black horse, running, screaming his name, she was the answer. The reward for his pain, his beautiful Aethelswith.

Reaching around her hip, he opened her legs, running his hand up and down her inner thigh. Sliding his fingers between her folds, he stopped, finding them wet. A flash of desire shot straight to his groin, pulling from him another moan. Nuzzling closer, he jutted his hardness into the crack of her behind.

"My sweet, you are still aroused from last night." Slowly he ran his fingers back and forth from her little pearl to her opening. Having recently learned the magic of that sensitive spot, he was fixated, every day, on bringing her pleasure.

Parting her knees further, she pushed her sex forward, eager for his touch. "Am I, or was I dreaming of you?"

Turning back, she kissed him again, reaching behind to grab his waiting cock. Guiding it down, she lifted her bottom, sliding it in between her legs. Pressing it firmly to her womanhood, she began to move her hips, his thick shaft slipping between her slick, sensitive folds. Unable to wait any longer, he grunted and tilted his hips, angling his tip toward her opening. Pressing in, his hand squeezed the side of her hip as she braced, arching her round bottom. Swearing under his breath, he paused, his length halfway in and hooked his forearm under her knee.

Whimpering his name, Aethelswith pushed back, sinking the rest of the way down until her behind was pressed against him, his length buried deep. Clutching each other, they both sighed, laying perfectly still, neither wanting to disturb the warm, perfect feeling.

"I want to stay like this," he murmured into her ear, "always." Exhaling loudly, he began to gently rock his hips. "How do I love you this much?" he whispered, closing his eyes; her effect on him making it hard to swallow.

"I am yours, Ivar," she uttered, pushing back in time with his every move. Lifting her arm, she slipped her hand around the back of his neck, her fingers sliding into his hair.

"My beautiful Aethelswith." Pressing his cheek to hers, he was aware that each stroke, every sensation made him more alive, no pain from the day, moving upright with braces, diluting his pleasure.

Increasing the pace, she bent forward pulling away from Ivar's chest. Brushing her long hair aside, he pushed up her thin shift, exposing the curve of her spine. Running his hand over the scarred flesh of her back, the pads of his fingers intimate with every scratch and detail. Reaching up, he gripped the back of her small neck, claiming her body and picking up the speed of his thrusts.

A tightening pulled deep in his loins causing him to slow. No, no, no, he thought, unwilling for their intimacy to end so quickly.

"My sweet?"

Straightening her body, she pressed back against his chest, turning her head, her blue eyes searched his.

"Can you climb on top?"

"Of course," she smiled, accustomed to this often being his most comfortable position. Kissing his lips one last time, she moved away and climbed up onto her knees.

Grabbing her hips, he stopped her. "Can you face away from me?"

"Away?" Furrowing her brow, she was unsure of his meaning.

"Let me sit up." Heaving himself upright, he shifted his pillow higher, leaning back against the carved headboard. "Okay," he flashed her boyish smile.

She did not move. "Ivar, my bottom will be right in your line of sight."

"And it will be glorious," he grinned making her laugh. Turning, she lifted her leg over his waist to straddle him. Pausing, she looked back over her shoulder.

"Yes, my sweet. Just like that," he encouraged. Leaning forward, he placed a hand on her waist, reaching between her legs. Coating his fingers in her wetness, he brought them to his mouth, his lids falling closed as he licked her taste. Holding his cock straight, he guided her down and she paused to adjust to the unfamiliar angle. Slipping down onto his full length, she exhaled sharply, the sensation causing her mouth to drop wide, his body filling hers completely and in a new way. Leaning forward, she pressed her hands into the bed between his thin bare calves, her behind open to his view.

Flexing his hips up, she let out a breathy moan, starting to rise and grind back down. Gently rolling her pelvis forward, Ivar hissed. The desire to thrust spurred on by the site of his shaft sinking deep into the back of her pink opening. Rocking upwards in a barely restrained rhythm, he spread her cheeks wider, staring at her entrances as she dropped her head forward, increasing her own pace.

"You are so perfect," he groaned. "You are a goddess, my queen." He was unable to stop his hips from rutting.

Cursing loudly, he straightened to sit, yanking her back to his chest. Both hands on her breasts, bracing her body, lifting her up and down, in time with him.

"I love you, Aethelswith," he murmured, continuing to jut his hips, their skin growing tacky from their urgent movements. Running his hands up her sides and shoulders, down her slender back, her whimpers broke into breathy pants as Ivar drove harder into her.

"I still cannot believe you are mine," he threw himself back against his pillow, his hips pushing up to meet hers, his hands skimming the back of her round parted cheeks.

"Ivar?" she rushed in a frantic voice, looking to the side. "It is happening. It is starting my love."

"Do not stop." Grabbing her hips, he pushed and pulled her over his grinding cock, snarling as his breath became frantic and his mouth fell open, eyes staying fixed on the back of her ass. "That is it my sweet. I am so close."

"Ivar," she whined, "I love you. I love you," she cried, over and over again. "I love you." Panting as her legs began to tremble, she dropped her chin to her chest and her body shuddered, her womb squeezing, pulsing around him, milking him gently. Growling out a shriek, Ivar thrust up one last time, exploding deep inside her, his body tingling as if he had just rolled in nettles.

Sitting forward, he wrapped his arms around her, hugging her tight. Leaning her head back against his shoulders, she smiled, her mouth dry, her body feeling small within his powerful arms.

"I love you, Ivar," she whispered again.

"Mmm." His lips ran across her skin.

"We need water. Let me up love," she said quietly.

Attempting to rise, he tightened his arms around her, holding her in place.

"No."

"Did I hurt your legs?"

"I do not want my seed to spill out."

"Why?"

"I am putting a baby boy into you right now."

"Ivar!"

"Ubbe told Hvitserk once that you will have a boy if you do it from behind. I cannot kneel behind you so I thought you could just turn around while on top."

"We cannot."

"Aethelswith, until you, I never thought I would ever lay with a woman. I am going to at least try and give you a child."

"No, my love, that is not what I meant." Sighing, she shook her head. "Please let me up."

Furrowing his brow, he released her, slumping back against his pillow, his plump lower lip automatically pouting.

Crawling to sit at the edge of the bed, she pulled her crumpled nightdress down. Standing, she walked to the table on the far wall, pouring each of them a mug of water. Returning, she held out the cup and he refused to reach for it, keeping his eyes locked with her. Unwilling to provoke, she lifted her brows, setting it down on the nightstand next to his favourite ax. Leaving him to his stew, she slipped behind the wicker screen to wash and ready for the day.

"Woman, are you going to talk to me?" he called, sounding more hurt than angry.

Moving out from behind the screen, she pulled a long-sleeved blue dress over her shoulders, smoothing it down her body. One of the many beautiful dresses Ivar had gifted her, along with colorful shawls and extravagant jewelry. Scoffing, her fingers fumbled with the drawstring ties at her bust and she glanced up to him, his eyes locked on her and dark with emotion.

"Ivar, we cannot have a child."

"Why?" he quipped.

"You know why." Anger flashed across her face, annoyed that their previous, numerous, discussions on the topic were not worth him remembering.

"No, I do not," he snapped, sounding like a child.

"You are the king now."

"Exactly," he bobbed his head.

"I have no place here yet."

"What are you talking about?" he sneered. "You are my woman. My queen. You will rule with me."

"Ivar," she whispered, looking over at the door, worried the guards may hear them. "I am not your queen. Your people will never accept me as such. Me, coming here nearly caused a rebellion and your warriors felt deceived. The truth is, we are not married, and I am not Viking."

"Then, let us marry. I ask you nearly every day. It is you who stops us." Lowering his eyes, his hands squeezed the furs on the bed. "The army has been paid. The people will accept you. They will never speak out against me." Looking back up, he cocked his head to one side. "They have no choice but to accept you. You will be my queen."

"Marry you?" Throwing her hands up, she shook her head. "How do you fathom we can marry? I am already married. Everything I have been doing is...."

"Wrong?" Ivar barked. "It is wrong? How could anything between us ever be wrong, Aethelswith?"

Looking down to the floor, her fist clenched and her nails dug into the fleshy part of her palm as her eyes searching the wooden floorboards for the words that might finally hold some meaning.

"Your marriage was over the second he forced himself on you. It was over when you chose me. Long before we sailed here."

"Not in the eyes of God," she muttered, not looking up.

"Some God you worship," he spat. "Show your God your mutilated back."

Her eyes shot up to his and she huffed, walking back to the table against the wall and finishing her cup of water.

"Ivar," she turned to face him, "as long as Burgred is alive, I am his wife. I can never be another's."

"You are not his wife!" he roared. The force of his voice, making him sit forward in the bed. "Do not say his name in our chambre again." Air shot from his nose and he looked up, his eyes roaming the ceiling. "And," he looked back to her, the volume of his voice dropping low, "you will not be another's wife....not another's....you will be mine. My wife! You already are. You are my queen. I can easily kill that man. I will, I just cannot sail for England so soon after squelching the uproar."

"I need air."

"You mean you need to get away from me."

"Stop Ivar," she rushed, grabbing her shawl from the trunk at the end of their bed, wrapping it around her shoulders.

"I need you," his voice cried out, sounding like a sob. Resting his head back against the headboard, he watched her. "There is no me without you now."

Closing her eyes, his words cut into her heart. The sentiment causing her chest to ache. Opening her eyes, she glanced to him, her cheeks were beginning to flush.

"You feel me, Aethelswith, as I feel you. I can see it on you now. On your skin. Nothing will ever stop our love. If you sailed away or swam to the bottom of the ocean. Even if I died Aethelswith, we will never end."

Turning her back to him, she sat on the trunk, pulling on her leather shoes. She could feel Ivar's hurt boring into her back, the sensation was like sitting too near a fire.

"I am going for a walk. Go ahead and eat without me."

Not allowing herself to soothe his hurt, she had to leave. Put space between herself and his asphyxiating notions. Hold her ground and not slip under the dark waters of his temper.

Looking back at his intoxicating blue eyes would only remind her that she would never want to be unladen from him. Never want to be free from his domination or need. She would infallibly and willingly succumb and drown in her love for him. She knew she would.

"You are not to leave this hall," he ordered, his voice sounding cold.

Spinning on the trunk, she squinted. "I am your captive again?"

Not responding, he clenched his jaw, his eyes struggling to hold her stare.

"Do not leave this hall without two guards." Turning, he picked up his ax from the table, spinning the blade over to look at the edge. "Do not be too long. Please. I hate eating without you." Glancing to her, his eyes quickly returned to the sharp edge of the ax.

Adjusting the lavender shawl around her shoulders, she stood and crossed the room, opening the door. Ivar's wounded eyes glanced up again as she hesitated in the threshold. Returning to his side, she leaned forward and pressed her mouth to his. Closing his eyes, he dropped the ax onto the bed, sighing softly into her kiss, the strain in his body holding tight. Straightening, she peered down to his conflicted face, still no sign that his mind would ease.

"I will not be too long," she whispered.

Turning to move away, he grabbed her hand stopping her.

"I love you, Aethelswith."

Looking back, her eyes swept over his perfect, cherub face.

"I love you, Ivar."

He tightened his hand on hers. "Forever?" his eyes widened.

"Forever, my love."

.


	3. Chapter 3

With the smoky scent of the coming second meal filling the great hall, Ivar's patience was done; Aethelswith had not yet returned. It had been hours since their angry exchange and well over a year since he had first stepped foot into his tent, finding her tethered to a pole. For the first time since he did not know her whereabouts and was silently going mad. Any distance between them, on a good day, made him feel off centre. Now, more anxious than ever, he was in no mood to listen to those unfortunate enough to have requested the audience of the king. Where was she?

Unable to sit comfortably on his throne, her empty chair next felt like a void. He could not stop himself from wondering what would become of him if she, one day, disappeared from his life. No! The word screamed through his mind, forcing his eyes to close. He could not ever create a reason for her to leave. Inhaling deeply, he filled his lungs, agonizingly aware that there was so much he needed to learn.

A shard of a memory flashed in his mind, the image of him as a boy with his very own duckling. His first pet, so tiny, it fit in his tiny hands. The entire day, he carried that duck like a prize; like a friend, a treasure that he would not share. Close to his chest he hugged it as Hvitserk pulled him through the streets in his wagon. His face burned, remembering the feeling of hot tears tracking down his rosy cheeks when he lifted that duckling to kiss its small beak and its head had flopped lifelessly across his wrist. Smothered, with a broken neck. That was the fate of anything Ivar the Boneless chose to love. Held so close and hard to his young heart, that he crushed it. Killed it. Loved it to death. In all the years since that day, he had never thought of it again...until now when there was another love to smother and no mother to clean it up.

Trudging out the tall doors and squinting in the mid day light, he made his way over to the head of the market. Tracking not far behind, Loni kept his distance, careful not to disrupt. The danger of the king's mood was obvious in his posture; his stiff neck and hardened chin, dark eyes, and brooding face. The people of Kattegat rushed clear of his path, some greeting him but the rest careful not to catch his eye. All were intrigued watching their ruthless king stalk the streets on foot, many assuming that someone was about to die.

Standing at the head of the market, he searched the street with stalls lining either side. This was the only public place he allowed her to visit with guards and not him by her side. Until today.... when she had asked if she was his captive.

Scanning the myriad colours, he thought back to a time when he could only dream of walking this lane with her. Watching her face as she experienced samples of far away cultures. He had been right, she loved this market; its people and all their exotic offerings. Silks and spices, beads, even charcoal and colored pastels for her drawing. Every stall seemed to pique her interest. Their keepers, mostly foreign, always offering her their smiles, tastes of their sweet treats and bunches of flowers. Through life's travels, some even spoke scraps of her language. Most notable to Ivar now was the fact that none cared that she was the Christian prize of the king. A prize kept so high and far from reach, a fall would be fatal.

Lowering his eyes, he stared at the hard-packed dirt below his twisted boots, listening to the lively sounds of merchants nearly done their day. None of it felt as loud as his regret. Pushing his breath out did nothing to loosen the tightness in his chest. He felt like a beast.

Returning to the hall doors, Ivar looked back to the emptying street. The sun's intensity was softening and the day of work winding down. Gazing toward the harbour, he wondered if she had walked the wharf, docks filled with hardened thralls and rough necked men. He had kept her world so small, simply to keep her safe. It was clear now that these past four months in his home and hall had only been a variation of her former captivity.

Moving down to a small crest overlooking the pier, he adjusted his crutch, pulling one braced leg closer to the other. The pace of the dock workers below picked up under his watchful stare. Where was she, he asked himself, knowing he was no longer mad, he just needed to know. Shuffling with agony in his lower half, he winced, shifting his weight and bearing down on his crutch. Where was his woman?

Scanning the sparse shoreline and tied vessels, his eyes, at first, dismissed the tiny form. Sitting in the sand, on the far side of the harbour, with knees pulled to her chest, he thought, at first, she was a child. The two seated guards, resting on the rocks above, told him they had been there for some time. With pain scorching his feet and knees, he turned, calling for Loni to fetch the chariot from the barn. He was going to bring his beloved home.

A wave of uncertainty washed over him as he carefully made his way. Did she regret coming, he wondered, his insides twisting at the thought? Did she regret leaving her family? Regret choosing him over everything? Letting go of his crutch, he dropped forward to the ground, his hands sinking deep into the sand. With her back to him, he pulled himself toward her; her gaze staying fixed on the thin line, where the ocean met the sun. The gentle curve of her back steered his thoughts to her courage on that grey, bleak day. It was not so long ago yet everything had changed. Could he not understand her one request, the only thing she had ever asked for; to wait until no person held any ties on her mind or future. Could he not give her that? His beautiful Aethelswith.

Shoes off with toes in the sand, she squeezed her knees to her chest. The summer season in Kattegat was not nearly as warm as home, but the sky seemed endless, Robin's egg blue and on this day entirely void of clouds. Squinting against the sun, she opened her mouth, tasting the salt in the air. Having never spent time by the sea everything about the shore, the smell, the lapping waves, and birds soaring above seemed so alive. Raising her hand to her cheek, she swept back a loose strand of her strawberry hair. Since their arrival, she had worn it down instead of tight in a braid, only pinning back the front from her face and at times not even that. Ivar loved it, unbound and free.

Ivar.... closing her eyes, the image of his chest against the skin of her back made her shift in the sand, the sensation warming her more than the sun ever could. A quickening of her heart brought her thoughts back to her body, his body really. She should repent for her sins but she never would regret giving herself to him. Stripping herself bare and spreading her legs, lying below his powerful frame. Rocking above and drawing out his whispered words, tender worship from his perfect lips. Long ago, she placed her beating heart at his feet and she would do it again and again.

Biting her lip, she looked down into the coarse sand, feeling that the force of his need, at times, was consuming. Enduring his dominance was exhausting but she did understand his need to ensconce her. Not merely for protection but because he cherished her. Truly and absolutely loved her.

How could she grumble as everything Ivar knew about love came from a woman desperate for his safety. A woman who shielded him and never held him accountable. Yes, there was a cost to loving so deeply, tying oneself to a man who was taught to take from others what he needed to survive and that was her.

A swish and soft clang along with a huff, caused her to spin and look behind. Bright blue eyes pierced her solitude but she was happy to have it shatter. Smiling, she swiveled further and outstretched our her hand.

"My love." Her words slipped out with her breath unsure if they would reach him. The softening of his face told her they had.

Dragging himself to her, he sat, stretching his legs out behind her, shame seared her chest as she watched him lift his hand to touch her back, only to hesitate. Instead, he brought his hand to the neck of his leathers, withdrawing a ruffled blue flower.

"A Forget-Me-Nots!" she exclaimed. "These are my favourite. I did not expect to see them outside of England." Bringing the blue and orange flower to her nose, she inhaled despite knowing there would be little scent.

"I shall not forget that," his lips pulled into a flat smile but the strain remained around his eyes. "I do not want you to have regrets Aethelswith."

Opening her mouth to respond, she stopped knowing he had more to say.

"I have been so focused since our return. Proving myself, overseeing the wall, expanding the port... I cannot fail." The strength of his voice softened. "But I feel that I have failed you." Tightening his jaw, his gaze seemed distant. "I have loved two women in my life, my mother being the first. I did not understand who she had to become to run this city when Ragnar left. My brothers hated my father for it and I was just too young and too angry with life to see. I see now though." He glanced down at the flower in her hand. "I see that I have been neglecting you, leaving you every day in a new city among unfamiliar people. I know what you need, and I will not fail you. Be patient with me Aethelswith. Let us spend time together over the next few days, I want to show you places that are special to me. I am new to this. Please," his brow pinched, "break into my mind and make me listen when you need me to. Like only you can."

"There is no bigger responsibility than being king," she replied. "And you are not failing me Ivar." Reaching forward, she cupped his cheek, his eyes closing at her touch. "I will be patient.... but I do have a request."

"Anything," he whispered, opening his eyes.

"Do not shut me away like a bird. Please."

Closing his eyes again, he exhaled loudly, forcing out the fear from his body.

Swiveling in the sand, she lowered her legs, crossing them in front. Raising her arms she beckoned him. Rolling onto his back, he dropped his head into her lap, his blue eyes looking up, admiring her. An easy smile pulled at his mouth as he took in her beautiful face, her natural coloured lips and flawless skin, her eyes softer than the sea.

"I am selfish for you." His brow tensed again. "But, our arguments are not my fault. I cannot help myself when it comes to you. You are the most beautiful woman I have have ever seen." Reaching up he skimmed his rough finger along the underside of her chin. "Your mind is so uniquely crafted, I worry at times that have I have no opinion until I hear yours." His smiled widened and she could see the grip of his worry release. "Watching two gulls as I made my way from the hall, fighting for the tail of a fish, I wondered which you would feel sorry for. The aggressor, fighting for territory or the runt desperate from hunger. Your wisdom allows you to see the pain of both. Your heart feels it. I am not like that, so, I need you Aethelswith. You are the only thing that keeps me from becoming a monster." Reaching both arms behind her, he wrapped his hands around her bottom.

"We will find our way, my love," she uttered quietly, running her fingers across his smooth, tanned cheek. "I have no more experience with love than you, but we will learn together. I will never leave you, Ivar. I simply could not. Even in death, I trust that you will find your way to me."

"Tell me what would make you feel more at home here. Like you belong, because you do. And... then I will address the other."

The sun was still hours from setting and Aethelswith looked up, gazing out over the twinkling waves. She hated the thought of their sweet moment being destroyed by the mention of her husband's name.

"I want to learn Norse," she replied knowing, without looking, that Ivar's grin would be stretching wide. "I need a tutor but I also need a friend. A friend other than you."

Glancing down, she watched his smile evaporate.

"Free Brana."

"Brana!" he rushed. "No Aethelswith. She is the best slave. She has been with me for years."

"Precisely, she has served you well. She could begin a life. Perhaps marry. You, who misses nothing, have surely seen the way Loni looks at her." She shook her head. "Brana is my friend and I miss her companionship now that we are here and she is so busy. She could teach me."

"I could teach you."

"Really?" she questioned.

"No," he sighed. "I would be cruel."

"Please?" Aethelswith leaned down brushing her lips across his upside-down mouth, her hair tickling his skin.

"Now, you are cruel," he said moaning into her mouth, his eyes closing for an instant. "Yes," he grunted with resignation. "I will free Brana but do not ask me to free anyone else. No kitchen thralls."

"I would not dare," she smiled straightening her back. "I have never cooked a meal in my life."

"But, she will stay in service, by your side, until I return from England. I leave in five days. I know what you need to feel free and it will be done."

"Thank you," she whispered, folding forward to press her cheek to his. Squeezing her eyes shut, she felt no guilt asking for the death of a man who stood between them.

"I love you," his lips whispered against her skin. "Come," he released his hands from her back, "my chariot awaits. Let us return for supper. You ate nothing this morning."

Sitting up, she swept back her curtain of hair, looking over to the path where Loni stood holding Ivar's horse.

Clearing his throat, Ivar looked to her again. "I want us to return to our chambers before the meal begins."

Bending forward, she kissed him again. "You want to show me how much you missed me today?" she smiled with a hint of the thoughts in her eyes. Dropping her hands to his chest, she slid them down, her fingers slipping beneath his coat finding the smooth skin of his belly.

"Well, that," he grinned up to her, "and my braces are filled with sand."

—-

Kicking the pebbles on the dirt path, Loni lowered his eyes from the beach, smiling, listening to the laughter of his best friend, stealing another kiss. Ivar was a formidable King with a reputation for ruthlessness, but, in a short time, he was equally known for his devotion to his beloved Aethelswith.

.


	4. Chapter 4

The sky seemed so low, like one could reach up and touch it. It's greyness made the sea look dark and cast a dull hue over everything but her. Bouncing on her toes, she stood in a bright cream dress, stretching to see over the shoulders of the men receiving the ships. With a guard on either side, she waited, ready to run into her lover's arms.

The three weeks he had been gone had been agonizing. Her routine had remained the same but the space next to her in the bed felt as stark as the pit in her heart. Laying at night, she would blink up into the black of their unlit room, wondering at what point her spirit had become so devoted. It was earlier than she would admit, even to herself, thinking back to their small canvas world.

Perhaps, it had not been a moment at all, instead, a slow leak in their defenses. Far more than loneliness or curiosity, they had craved knowledge of each other in those early days. Both yearning for some form of belonging. Was she really that surprised? They were young and inexperienced, thrown together on opposite sides of a war and starved for affection. The more they shared, the easier it came, stripping away the pain of their pasts. She just felt there was something in telling another person one's story that took the venom out of a sting. At some point, some moment, some candlelit evening, the shame was finally shed and an opening created, allowing the other to slip right in.

Alone in their bed, the weeks he was gone, she would eventually close her eyes only to find him there, resting behind the lids of her eyes, the image of him sometimes sitting holding up a piece of her parchment to the light. She adored the way he studied her sketches, his sharp eyes absorbing every detail. Often uttering soft praise under his breath with a gentle nod of his head. Her heart would soar. How could she love him so much?

The fate of her husband passed less and less through her thoughts as the days crept by and her worry grew for her beloved. Any child of God should be laden with guilt; their insides should burn yet having asked for the death of Burgred, she felt nothing.

There was a power to Ivar's love that had strengthened her, allowing her to lift her head high; she was no longer a ghost. All Burgred had given her was humiliation and pain, worse and more fatal, he stood between her and her love. He deserved death and death delivered by Ivar and for that, she would never repent.

—

Sitting on a crate, near the edge of the ship, Ivar's blue eyes found her. His expression was flat and even at a distance, she could see the weariness in his form. The sea had drained the colour from his skin leaving his features drawn and dower.

With a clatter, he was lowered, his feet finally touching the dock. Darting between the thralls she slammed into his chest, cheek to his leathers, she wrapped herself around his waist, squeezing her eyes shut. Raising his tired arms, he enclosed her small body, embracing her back. Touching his lips to the top of her head, his own eyes closed as anguish flashed across his face. Shifting, he dropped his cheek to her forehead, still not uttering a word.

"I did not think it possible to miss you this much," she said, pulling away and peering up into his cool blue eyes. "I counted each day until you would return to me."

Responding with only an exhale, he dipped forward, pressing a chaste kiss to her lips.

"Ivar?" Her brows scrunched as she searched his expressionless face.

"Come," he whispered, "let us go home."

—

On the edge of their bed, Ivar sat bare-chested, the glow of candles throwing warm light across his smooth skin. His defined muscles looked particularly developed under a sheen from his hot and much needed bath. Wrapped in a thin drying towel, his narrow legs hung over the side of the bed; his puffy, gnarled feet looking out of place. Gripping the edge of the mattress, his head hung forward, eyes closed as if his mind was attempting to free a burden too heavy to carry.

"Ivar?" Crossing the room, she knelt on the floor, reaching forward to grab his hand. "My love, please tell me what it is."

Not responding, he remained still.

"You have barely spoken since your return and said nothing throughout the meal. Ivar," her voice pleaded.

Opening his eyes, he did not lift his chin but gazed at her from under his brow. Admiring her long lashes and the way her peach-coloured lips were parted, waiting for him to respond. The enormity of his ache for her was overwhelming, causing him to shiver, but he did not reach for her. He wanted to suffer looking at her beautiful face. How he had missed that delicate mouth and its taste of a life still far from reach. Closing his eyes, he yearned to disappear, even from her, fade into black and force away the memory of England.

"I failed," he whispered, looking up.

There it is, he thought, watching her forehead crease out of the corner of his eye. One more reason he loved her so. She had the patience and control of a Goddess. Never forcing or prodding him, just waiting, sitting with his fury and somehow understanding his vicious words were never for her.

"I failed," he swallowed with difficulty, wetting his lower lip with his tongue. "Burgred lives."

Pressing her lips together, her soft blue eyes darted back and forth between his, silently asking why.

Looking down, he grunted, the sound rattling in his throat. "You are with a cripple Aethelswith. One who could not even pull a weasel from its hole."

"Do not speak that way," she breathed reaching up and placing her hand to his cheek.

"However," he lifted his eyes to hers, so cold, she nearly pulled her hand back.

"However?"

"Regardless, I have determined the best date for our wedding." His eyes intensified. "The entire voyage home, I thought on it, selecting the perfect day. Exactly one month from tomorrow."

The revelation caused her to drop her hand and sank back onto her heels.

"Four weeks will be enough time to prepare for a ceremony. Do you not agree, Aethelswith?" he pronounced her name with a hiss.

"Ivar," she murmured under her breath.

"Aethelswith," he mimicked, causing her to snap her eyes back to his. "He is a ghost. Gone."

"Ivar."

"Ivar, Ivar. What, Aethelswith? How can he possibly prevent us from marrying? Hmm? Unless you want him to."

Inhaling slowly, she filled her lungs, staring back at his hard face. "Please understand..."

"Oh!" he snapped. "Understand?" he grated out a laugh. "I have been more than understanding."

"I did not swear vows to that despicable man, I swore them to God. To God, Ivar. You are asking me to break vows to God."

Clucking his tongue, he grinned, a mask of condescension sliding over his features. "First it was Burgred and now it is God. Your sacred God still stands between us? This does not bode well for our future, Aethelswith. Nothing can stand between us."

"Precisely!" she rushed not saying another word. She could tell he wanted to war and she knew she did not stand a chance with his forked tongue.

"You are telling me, Aethelswith," he shook his head, "that you are too pure a Christian to marry me, but not too devout to ride my cock."

Scoffing she looked away, shaking her head, disgusted.

"Yes?" Tilting forward, he stared. "Oh, I will respect your divinity, my sweet. I will honour what you hold holy," his voice crooned. "I will not lay with you until we marry."

Looking up, she flinched, not realizing he was so close. Glaring at him, she no longer wanted to sit on the floor at his feet and pushed herself up to stand, swatting the grit off her gown.

"I hope you never find yourself in a situation Ivar, where you must choose me over your Gods."

"Why would I?" he quipped, fluttering his eyelashes.

Air rushed from her noise. "And, you are voracious. You are going to refuse me? I know kings keep whores and slaves but starting before we marry is tad arrogant. Even for you."

"So, which are you, hmm? My slave or my whore?"

Like being hit with water, she shuddered but did not miss the flicker in his eyes as his aggression dissolved, leaving him just looking dejected.

"Ivar," she whispered.

"Is that what you think?" he squinted as if fighting an image in his mind. "That I will one day take another? Look for comfort or....," he could not even say it, "....with someone other than you? You think I would do that?"

Dropping her eyes, she could not look at him, his hurt only making her own worse.

"Thank you, Aethelswith," his expression steadied.

Looking back up to his face, she watched the poison return.

"Thank you for speaking out of anger. I find it is when people are most truthful." Inhaling loudly, his bare chest rose and fell, goosebumps spreading across his flesh. "Yes, this will help me immensely to keep my word. Along with the fact that for the first time, you look a little less beautiful."

"Ivar," she whimpered.

"Get out."

"Pardon," she pressed her hand to her chest.

"Leave Aethelswith," he looked away. "I want to dress for bed."

"I always help.."

"I want privacy!" he shouted continuing to stare at the wall.

"For the night?" her voice cracked and for an instant, a moment, so did his resolve. His brows creased, and she watched him battle his need to reach for her. Closing his eyes, he swallowed.

"You can return once I am in bed," he looked back to her.

Feeling too stunned to react, she knew the devastation would later feel like an open wound. Turning away, she walked to the door, slowly dragging it open. Stepping over the threshold, she pulled the door behind her, hesitating to peer back through. Frozen in place and staring at the ceiling, she could see his face twisted in pain, and she felt panicked, unsure of what to do. His words, this does not bode well for the future, rang in her mind and she felt the heat of tears rising behind her eyes. For the first time, she was afraid to leave and let him stew. She wanted to scream, remind him that they wanted the same thing. Instead, feeling bare in her nightgown, she turned toward the hall, closing the door behind.

.


	5. Chapter 5

The slaves were shuffled through the hall doors and forced to stand in a line for inspection. The worried eyes of the disheveled bunch scanned about the hall, nervously assessing their new home. Their eyes seemed to search for evidence, anything, that might provide insight into the next stage of their torment. Would it be better or worse from anywhere else but more importantly, most wondered, would they survive?

The threatening orders of a wiry man with a scruffy, yellowing beard jostled their attention back to Aethelswith. Waiting, she stood at the base of the stairs in front of the thrones. Despising the entire process, she held back a grimace as she walked toward them. The fear and uncertainty in their eyes made her feel ill, as did the smell of the grimy little man peddling their flesh. There was nothing about people being tethered like animals that would ever feel acceptable but she had been tasked with finding more slaves for the hall.

Behind her, leaning on the arm of his throne, Ivar had already found the petite woman with hair so fair it shone nearly white. Not quite as small as Aethelswith, she possessed all the characteristics of a Viking. Straight nose and deep blue eyes with her uncut, long hair braided down one side of her face. Her hands looked unworked and Ivar noticed that her plain beige dress remained untattered with no signs of the filth on her fair skin that covered the others in line.

The man clutched the girl's upper arm and pulled her forward for Aethelswith to appraise.

"This is the girl you spoke of? Who speaks my language?" Aethelswith asked, waiting for the translator to finish relaying her words.

"Yes," came the reply.

The slaver rasped on in Norse, looking like he was taking great care to speak as politely as someone like him could.

"This one worked as a slave to the wife of Jarl Henriksson," the translator continued. "His wife was Saxon, like you my queen."

Not correcting the translator, she was unsure if the error in her title had been his or the slaver's. She did not want to engage any more than necessary and would never deny being queen with Ivar perched above, surveying them all.

"What is your name?" Aethelswith asked the pretty girl with the slight smile.

Dipping her head, she bowed. "Freydis, my Lady."

—-

Believing that Ivar would be first to lose his resolve had been a mistake. Sitting alone in their chambre, Aethelswith was haunted by his ultimatum, not at all the iron force behind the standoff. He was distancing himself and it wounded her deeply, forcing her eyes open to the strength of their enmeshment. Ivar, had always being the one urgent to make love, and it had been a distraction from her own need for him.

For two weeks since his return from England, she had endured his punishment. Surviving only on the two chaste kisses he gave her each day; before leaving their chambre in the morning and when the candles were blown out at night and his lips never lingered. What a brilliant strategist her beloved was.

Sitting at her desk now, in their guarded room, she rested her elbows on their worktable, missing for his affection. To his men, the thralls or visitors in the hall, his behaviour would have seemed unchanged. Still attentive and protective, always holding her hand when sitting side by side on their thrones. Yet, she could feel the space in every exchange, his thumb no longer stroked circles on the back of her hand and he rarely made eye contact.

It had been some time since he had asked about her day or what she was learning in her lessons. He had stopped altogether asking her opinion on various matters regarding the city. Before this draw, Ivar was compulsive about knowing what was on her mind. Persistently asking what she was thinking. At times, his questions made her brain feel scrubbed as if she had just been interrogated. She always answered with patience as she understood it was beyond his control. He agonized when they were apart, and despite her assurance, she knew deep down, he feared she would one day leave.

Through this process of standing their ground, what ate her alive more than anything, was how bright his smile was when she entered a room only for realization to strike and the brightness to fade. As if his adoration was a flame being snuffed out by his ultimatum. 

When the sun would set and night would come, he would lie in bed and pretend not to miss her. If it had not been so sad, she would have laughed as Ivar was not a man who could feign indifference. His mood was as loud as thunder.

Keeping to his side of the bed, he would look up into the darkness and the silence would ring in her ears, only broken by his uttering a quiet goodnight. She felt alone, more so than when she had been, all those weeks, on her own.

Refusing to turn her back to him, she would sleep on her side, curled up like a child. As always, stretch her cold feet forward, slipping one under his lower back and resting the other on his stomach. Despite the impasse, she was grateful that he would still take her foot is his strong, warm hand, holding it, as he always had, while they drifted off to sleep. 

But still.... it had been six weeks since they last made love and each night, she had to stop herself from crawling to his side. There was little point unless she was ready to acquiesce and she was not. Could not. What would their life look like if he would not value the few things she held dear.

Adjusting in her chair, she forced her jaw to unclench and picked up a smooth piece of charcoal. It was early afternoon and she had not yet seen her king,; some meeting regarding the wall had forced him up early and he had slipped out without waking her. She prayed this was not be a new habit.

Having no interest in eating in the hall alone, she requested a tray to be brought to their chambre. Not outright disliking her new thrall, she was yet to warm to her. Regardless, Freydis' sweet smile and tray of honeyed oats and mixed fruit, along with her customary cup of milk were welcome on that lonesome day. The fair-haired girl always arrived with a bright face and a fresh vase of white flowers. She was a nosey little thing, always asking questions and sharing her many observations on the weather and the comings and goings of people in the hall.

Rolling the charcoal in her hand, the pads of her fingers grew dark with soot. She had missed the feel of it against her skin having barely sketched since arriving. Instead, she preferred being out in the market or practicing Norse with Brana, often while picking berries or strolling down the shoreline. Armoured men with blades ready always tailing them not far behind. Brana, aside from Ivar, was her anchor and the truest friend she had ever had.

Always, at the start of each week, she visited Gussr and his wife Nanna. Gussr had aged terribly in the time since England, barely mobile and never properly healing from his injuries of that morning. Nanna possessed the same spirit has him; patient, warm and always delighted by her presence. Aethelswith would often bring them small gifts and sweets or sought-after supplies that they would have never spent what little money they had on. She loved them dearly and knew they felt the same. In the camp, Gussr had been her chaperone but became so much more, showing her compassion and support with the slightest of smiles and a paternal ease that allowed them to sit in comfortable silence for hours. Days. Weeks. Months. At the time, she knew that had Ivar decided to harm her, no one could have stopped him but the fact that Gussr would have wanted to brought her comfort. Now they shared a connection that could never be severed.

The remaining hours of the day Aethelswith spent at Ivar's side, in their chairs in the great hall, while he heard and settled town disputes. As of late, he was closing the doors turning away those who had arrived to complain.

Looking down at her blank parchment, she searched her mind for inspiration, but all was dark besides images of him; his lips on the skin of her throat or taking her nipple in his mouth, his hands running up her thighs and squeezing her behind, grinding her down on top of him. His beautiful face looking up at her, his gaze teaming with love. Closing her eyes, she dropped her head back allowing the warmth of her thoughts to roll up her spine. With a frustrated sigh, she rose from her chair and walked toward the door. Enough was enough, she was going to find her king.

—

The training grounds were nearly empty and the sun was now less intense but the feast was still many hours away. Standing just into the clearing, she watched Hvitserk spar with another man she did not know the name of. He was a regular in the hall but never talked with her or returned a passing smile. None of them did. They were either disgusted she was a Christian or feared the wrath of the king. Being no fool, she knew it was likely both.

Swaying and ducking, Hvitserk cut the air, tapping his opponent with the flat side of his blade. Spinning on a heel, rolling his torso, he dipped forward, avoiding contact with the other sword. Lean and strong, his movements were fluid, the most graceful fighter she had ever seen. She would offer him the compliment but felt her praise would be unwelcome or met with a cool remark. Why bother?

The sparing broke and Hvitserk turned in her direction, wiping sweat from his forehead.

"Are you lost, princess?"

Fighting the urge to cringe, she smiled ignoring the condescension in his voice.

"I am looking for Ivar."

"I did not think you were here to see me."

Tilting her head to the side, she studied his green eyes. "Have I offended you?"

Startled by her question, Hvitserk's smirk faded. "No."

"A deaf man with no sight could detect your disdain," she looked at him evenly.

Sheathing his sword, he rested his hands on his hips, mouth open as if still deciding how to reply.

"It is your effect on my brother," he finally said. "This game you are playing, declaring yourself still married."

"That is between Ivar and me."

"Is it?" his eyebrows spiked. "Do you have any idea what he was like in England?" Running his hand over his pulled back hair, he glanced behind him before looking at her again. "He was crazed. He was a mad man. The death and torture he left in his wake." Shaking his head, he stared at her. "He slaughtered countless people. Slaughtered Aethelswith. Many were obviously telling the truth that they did not know the whereabouts of Burgred." He dropped the volume of his voice. "Look, seeing Christians cut down will never break my heart but this was....." he shook his head, "even his own men were doubting his sanity. Now that he feels rejected by you his cruelty grows with his need to prove himself. Save face as a king whose woman has yet to marry him. But...I see it in his eyes when he is with you. You make him feel like a God. A God!" Hvitserk repeated.

Squeezing her clenched hands, she could barely hear his words, imagining a blood-soaked Ivar terrorizing crowds of innocent people, rolling through villages on his chariot, with frenzied eyes and his mouth gaping wide, an ax high overhead, leaving behind only death. Closing her eyes, she shuddered, knowing what he said was the truth. 

Stepping forward, Hvitserk bent down, grabbing his water skin off the ground. Looking at her, he took a long drink before corking it and tucking it under his arm.

"Ivar went to the barn with Loni to see how the new wheels were coming along for his chariot. Following, they were heading to the hall to check on the preparations. Finehair's fleet is already in the harbour and tonight Ivar will be receiving him for the first time as king."

Nodding, she kept her gaze down on the trampled grass.

Moving past her, he headed for the trail. "You be careful Aethelswith."

Spinning around, she spoke to his back. "Ivar would never hurt me."

"If you say so," he called back, not looking in her direction.

—-

Aethelswith entered the hall to find Ivar in his chair talking with Loni and another man she knew as Raud. They sat casually on the steps in front of him all nursing a horn of ale. Loni seemed to be recounting a story from battle as he whipped his arm through the air in an animated gesture as if delivering a fatal blow. Raud was smiling and nodding and Ivar drank from his cup, listing while staring at the floor.

As if sensing her arrival, he looked up to the large doors. Sweet recognition flickered in his eyes and he smiled before his face again turned sour and void of emotion. Regardless, she made her way toward him.

"Where are your guards!" he lashed out, his voice echoing through the hall.

Stopping at the bottom of the stairs, she stood in place as if she was a commoner there for a reprimand. Cocking his head to one side, he squinted, unsure of her lack of reaction. 

"I decided to walk up to the training grounds and did not want the fuss of an entourage."

"The training grounds? Through the forest? Aethelswith!" he barked. "Are you daft or just outright disregarding me now?" Squeezing his horn, he leaned forward in his chair. "I have told you to have at least two guards with you at all times!"

Raud looked away and Loni gazed into his own cup pretending not to notice the tension and silence filling the hall. With a neutral face, she stared back at him, never wavering despite the feeling of her insides being torn out.

He raised his finger and pointed at her.

"Do not ignore me again."

Continuing to hold his glare, she controlled her emotions. She knew this man and how to navigate his storms.

"I went looking for you," she said in a steady tone. All eyes were on her and she would not appear broken.

"You did?" Surprise sounded in his voice as he could not recall her ever seeking him out, never wanting to disturb his work.

"Yes, I felt an odd pain in my chest," she replied softly.

"Are you unwell? he straightened in his chair, his eyes looking sincere.

"It was a pang in my heart."

Leaning forward, Ivar's brow creased. 

"I realized I was missing you," she smiled. "You left early this morning and I have not felt your kiss today."

Freezing for an instant, his expression melted and his lips pulled back into a smile, his bright blue eyes sparkled as he reached toward her.

"Aethelswith, come to me," he nearly whimpered. 

Climbing the steps toward his outstretched hand, she could not help but mirror his expression. Loni and Raud rushed to clear the stairs making their way elsewhere. 

Pulling her into his lap, Ivar wrapped his arms around her, bringing his face close to hers. Grabbing the cup from his hand, she took a deep drink of his mead turning his smile into a grin. Closing the small space between, he kissed her gently, delicately and with love. Pulling back to speak, she stopped looking at his sold face, eyes still closed as if he was savoring the feel of her mouth. Opening his eyes, tension crept back into his expression. 

"My sweet," he kissed her one more time, "please do not leave the hall on your own. Tell me if you want to come and watch the training and I will take you up on my chariot." Pausing, he looked up into her light blue eyes. "I love you, Aethelswith. I react because of how important you are. I would die before I would allow anything to ever happen to you."

Placing her small hand on his chiseled cheek, she kissed him again, mewing at how she had missed his warm lips and the taste of ale on his tongue. As their kiss deepened, the description of Ivar's savagery flickered in her mind; blood and sharp teeth, ripped apart bodies rotting. Ivar's tongue swirling against hers was too great a distraction, his hot breath and needy hands pulling her harder to him. She should have been horrified and repulsed but his sweet mouth breathing her in, after so long, felt like heaven.

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	6. Chapter 6

Catching Aethelswith's lips with his one last time, he released his grip on her waist, allowing her to slip free. Her tiny fingers slid out of his outstretched hand and she looked back at him and smiled. Soft wisps of strawberry golden hair framed her perfect face and Ivar thought she looked breathtaking. Turning away, she moved down the steps and toward their chambre; his blue eyes fixed on her lissom form, his body still warmed from her attention, as she made her way back to their chamber to prepare for the evening.

The small blonde slave stepped out from where she had been waiting against the wall and rushed to follow as Aethelswith made her way down the corridor. Ivar did not miss the way Freydis glanced back over her shoulder, with a hopeful look that his eyes might focussed on her. Forgetting herself, she swayed her hips and Ivar thought Hvitserk, or any other man, would take it for what it was, an invitation.

Wincing, he adjusted on his chair, hoping to find a position that might ease the stabbing in his legs. It was of no use, of course, and despite the added strain, he already missed the feel of Aethelswith's bottom pressing down on his lap.

"Gods," he exclaimed and closed his eyes. Withdrawing from her felt impossible. It forced him to question the strength of his resolve. He felt at war with himself yet avoiding her was his only chance of her experiencing just a sliver of the rejection he felt. It would be so easy to give in and plunge under the warm waters of her affection; her skin, her scent, her taste and feel, her curiosity, and the way she subtly smirked before saying something witty. He loved her. The fact that she could place her god or some nothing man between them felt like a knife splaying his ribs apart. But now, tasting her sweetness after so long made his mind soar but he could not undo his ultimatum. What kind of man would break his word? No man worthy of her, he assured himself. For the time being he would feel lost without her touch until she chose what he had to believe was their fate.

As nothing beyond them had any true meaning and at times he wondered, if he was a less greedy man, could he turn his back on everything, his throne, his legacy, his need for victory. No, he scoffed out loud, clearing his throat and straightening on his seat. They would have it all. Why should he ever choose? He was the favoured son of Ragnar Lothbrok. A Viking king, and with her at his side, more powerful than any man. Glory for him was not a question of deserving but taking. 

Sinking down further into his chair, he slumped onto an elbow feeling the heaviness in his limbs. The worry struck that he might not be able to make it back to their room upright because of the degree of his pain. If the hall had been less occupied, he would simply drop to the ground and crawl back. He had pushed his limits inspecting the new sections of the wall. Still under construction, he had walked the areas his chariot could not reach before heading to the yard to oversee the training. Since starting the fortification, he had surveyed the progress each day, unrelenting in his demands for speed and excellence.

Holding his cup out to the side, it was refilled for the third time. If it did not quell the pain in his lower half he would concede and drink the tea Aethelswith kept in supply from the healers. 

Hurried voices cut through his thoughts, jabbing at his foulness. He growled in the direction of the divide leading into the kitchen and took a slow drink from his topped-up ale, his eyes staring out above the rim of his horn. He could still hear the faceless thralls, jabbering on. 

"Quiet!" he roared, spittle flying from his mouth as he lowered his cup down onto his armrest. Glaring out as if to challenge the room, he scanned all those occupying benches drinking his ale. No one met his stare, but everyone seemed to tense, holding their breath, waiting.

Brigit, a stout, matronly dressed slave raced around the divide, stopping below his throne at the foot of the stairs. Shifting her feet side to side she gave the impression that she might wet herself. Opening his mouth as if to deliver his wrath, Brigit cut him off.

"My king, it is Lady Aethelswith."

Closing his mouth, he listened.

"You must come. Quickly."

Hearing nothing after she spoke his beloved's name, Ivar was already up and out of his chair, down the stairs, making his way through the corridor, hardly leaning on his crutch.

The shrill voices coming from their chambre reached him before he rounded the threshold. Entering, he lurched to a stop. Blood. Her blood. Her precious, sacred, crimson blood, everywhere. Smeared across the floor from the tub to where she lay, carelessly dropped on their bed like she had been discarded. Her face was coated with what looked like red honey and Ivar's his mind raced, attempting to make sense of the scene. His love! Unconscious and nude but for a loose sheet tossed across her front.

A young thrall, no more than sixteen, crouched over Aethelswith stroking back the damp hair stuck to the side her face; the girl's hands were shaking and coated with blood. Kneeling, as if in prayer, Freydis crouched on the far side of the room, sobbing into her hands.

"No," the word tumbled from his tongue. "Nooo!" he screamed; his eyes wild with confusion. "Do not touch her!" he shouted, rushing forward, and dropping onto his stomach onto the bed. "Who did this! Get your hands off her!" he snarled grabbing her small body and pulling her limp shoulders toward him. Her eyes were closed and her slack mouth hung open.

The thralls scattered back from the bed like mice.

"My sweet? My sweet?" Frantically, his eyes darted between her features, his hands skimming her body, searching for a wound. Letting go, he heaved himself closer and pressed his ear to her chest, letting out a cry of a relief detecting the steady rhythm of her heart.

"What happened?" he roared so loud it echoed into the hall. 

The older slave stepped forward, pressing a cloth to Aethelswith's forehead. Lifting the cloth, Ivar saw the dark opening of a deep gash buried within her hairline. Off-center and hard to detect with the amount of blood flowing out. Flipping the rag over, the Brigit pressed down on it with a firm hand. 

"What happened!" he demanded again, snapping his head up, his cold furious eyes cutting into the woman.

Turning to look behind her, the old thrall eyed Freydis who now sat on the floor against the wall, her arms hugging her knees to her chest.

Glancing down to Aethelswith, he snatched the blood-soaked rag from Brigit and pressed it himself just above her temple. The gaze he returned to Freydis was beyond a threat, he was marking her death.

As if trying to escape, she dropped her hands to either side, pushing herself harder against the wall.

"I am so sorry, my King," her face twisted in fear. "She slipped climbing from the tub. There must have been soap on the floor. I,'I, I" she stuttered, choking on tears, "I am so sorry. Please, my King. Please forgive....."

"Get out!" Ivar shrieked, his grip around Aethelswith was the only reason his ax had not already been hurled in her direction.

Ivar flung the drenched cloth onto the floor as the older woman quickly pressed another rag to her wound. Ivar smacked her hand away and held it himself.

"Get the healer!" he barked into the air. "Run! Tell her it is the queen and she will need to be stitched. How could you have let this happen?" he hissed, dropping his eyes back to Aethelswith, too angry to cry.

Having driven a blade into countless skulls on the battlefield, he knew head wounds could be the most gruesome. Hers made worse by the hot bath opening her veins and after a blunt blow, her thin blood was raging. Pressing his lips to her sticky red face, he rushed out whispered assurance and how much he loved her while pulling the stained covers up to shield her body.

It was hard for him to breathe, feeling cold spread through his chest. The sensation making a memory flash of him breaking through ice on his chariot. Lifting the cloth, he watched the jagged tear in her skin fill again with blood. Pressing harder, he could only stare and pray to the Gods.

She lay peacefully still with her eyes gently closed looking like a perfect doll but soiled with gore and blood. He wanted to kill everyone in the room and the hall, Kattegat even, but he would not let go of his sweet. She was his heart, his dreams, everything; his beautiful Aethelswith.

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	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thanks everyone for your great comments on the last chapter. It was so motivating.

"Ivar," she pleaded in a gentle voice.

With dark eyes and a scowling face, he sat next to her, leaning against the headboard of their bed. His face was drawn tight and he looked nearly as pale as her.

"I am alright. Ivar, please," she squeezed his hand.

Turning to look at her, his eyes narrowed on the neatly stitched sutures just into her hairline. Squinting he inspected the sympatry of the black thread for the hundredth time. The healer's old hands had been shaking so feebly from his stance over her that he worried her work would leave the wound unrepaired. He threatened the woman a number of times, to have her dragged out so he, himself, could finish the delicate task. All the while, Aethelswith murmured reassurance that all would be well and to give the poor healer room to breathe. 

The light was shifting and the slaves still in the room busied themselves with cleaning the blood from the floors, emptying the tub and removing the soiled linens. The furs on the bed had already been changed and the blood-soaked cloths long gone.

Despite the shaded light, candles were being lit in anticipation of the approaching evening. The older kitchen thrall who had tended to her head entered with a tray, carrying a steaming bowl of bone broth. Being the matriarch of the slaves and in-service the longest, Aethelswith was not surprised it had been her who mustered the courage to alert Ivar to her fall. No question, she was there now as the young girls cleaning the room were more terrified of him than usual.

Forgoing the spoon offered, Aethelswith accepted the broth and blew away the steam, sipping directly from the bowl's edge. Having been wiped clean, she sat with her knees up, leaning back beside Ivar, wearing a fresh slip and a fur tucked around her. Loosely braided and resting down one shoulder, her long hair had been rewashed in a bowl of soapy water to remove the dried blood. It had taken multiple bowls before the water would rinse clear.

Standing at Aethelswith's side of the bed, the older woman adjusted her pillows, careful not to jostle and cause her soup to spill. Picking up Aethelswith's braid, she squeezed it with a fresh cloth to expel any extra water and speed it's drying.

"Will you get your hands off my woman," Ivar sneered. His eyes no less full of danger than they had been an hour earlier. Brigit moved away from the bed and signaled the others to hurry.

"She was only trying to make me comfortable," Aethelswith whispered, looking through the steam rising from her broth as the thralls, scurried from the room, closing the door. They were alone, at last.

"That girl will pay with her life."

Without looking, Aethelswith could sense Ivar's grimace, his words spoken with a rasp from his lips being in a snarl.

"That is absurd, Ivar. No."

"Absurd, Aethelswith? She nearly killed you. You did not see the display that I walk in to. You were cold out and a mess. I have seen less blood on a battlefield. And! There was soap all over the floor. You could have died! If you do not have respect for your life, remember, I do."

"Ivar."

"What, Aethelswith?"

Placing her bowl on the table next, she turned to look at him, lifting her hand and without thinking, gently felt her stitches. Lowering her hand, she maintained his stare, knowing now was not the time to use a sharp tone.

Seeing her blink softly and the way her eyes began to roam his face, pausing on his mouth before flicking back up to his eyes, his expression softened. Leaning down, he pressed a lingering kiss to her bare shoulder exposed by her fresh nightgown.

The door began to open, causing them both to look over.

"Get out!" his voice boomed.

Whichever thrall it had been, immediately retreated and pulled the door closed.

"The girl dies. I cannot stand her. She is always up your ass," he continued.

"The way your eyes follow her, I assumed you wanted to be up hers."

His head snapped over to look at her. "You cannot be serious, Aethelswith."

Crackling a smile at his gobsmacked face she laughed, "I was teasing you. Mostly."

"I do not like her Aethelswith, and I do not trust her. She is.... so..."

"Pretty?"

"Clean. What slave arrives off the boats clean?"

"Ivar, she was a lady's maid. They are not worked in the same way. They are not forced to do hard labour. Thank god you have me. How else would you learn about such civilized things," she smiled.

"Yes, that is why I am grateful to the Gods for you. So I can be educated on the work of a lady's maid." Rolling his eyes, he looked away still frowning and reached down to adjust his legs on the bed. "You do not like her, do you Aethelswith?"

"I do not dislike her."

"I knew it!" He looked back. "I knew you didn't."

"It does not mean she deserves to die. And, she was on the other side of the room when I fell."

"Exactly!"

"You know I cannot reach the floor when teetering on the rim of those tall sided tubs."

"She should have been there helping you."

The door opened again and the older kitchen thrall stepped in.

"GET OUT!" Ivar screamed. "The next person who comes in here will taste my blade!"

"My King, I will go but please, you must know that guests are arriving."

Grunting, he shook his head and closed his eyes. Bringing his hand up, he rubbed his face wearily, dreading the night ahead.

"Give them more ale and food. I will be there in a while. I need to change and... just go!" he exclaimed frustrated.

Closing her eyes, Aethelswith waited for the rage just below his skin to settle.

"Do not punish Freydis anymore than the terror you have already instilled."

Looking at her, he tilted his head, visibly pondering a thought. "What is the most disappointed I have ever made you?"

Inhaling, she too pondered, not daring to admit that the list was long.

"That would probably be when you yelled at me when all I wanted to do was show you the fish I caught."

"In England?" he raised his brows, surprised.

"Hmm," she replied.

"Did you love me then?" he asked, his voice now quiet.

"Did you?"

"Yes," he answered without hesitation.

"I am not sure if I did," she said cautiously, glancing at him from the corner of her eye. "It is so strange how my feelings for you evolved. There is simply no linear method for determining when they began. In a way, it feels that I have always loved you. As long as I can remember there was this ache in my body that I could never name. Having always been there, it was impossible to know if it shouldn't have been. It made me feel as if I was different from others, and at times like I was this intruder in my own life. I felt that I was always, always," she repeated, "in the wrong place. Spending all that time together in Wessex, it was as if my mind and heart finally made sense of it all. It was you." She looked up to him, watching the storm of emotion in his eyes. "It was my love for you that entire time with no where to go. And," she smiled sadly, "despite it all, I am still struggling to...."

"You are struggling because you refuse to take your place."

Ignoring his hurt words, she wet her dry lips with her tongue. "I resent being put in the position where I must ask for you listen to me. Ask to be respected."

"Aethelswith, I run this city and I run this hall.

"I run this hall, Ivar. You said so yourself."

Huffing under his breath, he looked away. "Until you stand with me as my queen, you keep yourself in a lesser position, not I. Look at the state of you now, hmm?" He looked back at her. "But I am understanding." Quiet for a moment, he took another deep breath and sighed. "Keep your Saxon speaking slave," he leaned closer, "but keep her far, far away from me. I am deadly serious, Aethelswith. One more mistake and I swear to the Gods, I will bleed her, and you are not even capable of imagining what I would do to someone who hurt you. No one is."

—-

Facing away from Aethelswith, Ivar sat with legs over the side of the bed, adjusting the cuffs on his black tunic. Few words had been spoken since their exchange and he had shooed away her attempts to help him prepare for the feast. Instead, he demanded that she rest.

"Ivar, before you leave for the evening, there is something I must say."

"Wonderful," he muttered, not turning to look at her.

When silence ensued, he glanced over his shoulder. Her gaze was flat and the features of her washed-out face gave away how drained she was.

"Out with it. Whatever it is, I know it will be nothing I want to hear."

Looking down at her hands, she picked remanence of dried blood out from under her thumbnail and subtly shook her head. "Forget I said anything."

Swiveling, he turned to look at her again, his face hard with the anticipation of having to defend himself.

"When you share good news, you always start with, my love," he said feigning a saccharine voice.

"Are you quite done?"

Eyeing him, unimpressed, she kept her chin down, pulling the furs up higher to cover herself.

Dropping his eyes, he stared at nothing. After months of feeling hurt, his sour words just slipped out off his bitter tongue. Grabbing his crutch, he pushed himself to stand and rounded the bed to sit beside her. Leaning his crutch against the side table, he touched her arm with the backs of his fingers. "Are you chilled? I will add wood to the fire."

She said nothing.

Teetering his head from side to side, he conceded. "Fine, I am listening."

Softly clearing her throat, she began,

"For nearly a year, I have sat next to you on your throne, watching and listening to you rule your people, often through domination and fear. I rarely agree but have you ever witnessed my demeanor falter? Seen my face drop or heard me utter a word not in your favour? Never. I sit by your side even when I feel you are misguided or selfish or simply being cruel. Because I chose you Ivar. I pledged myself to you in your entirety. I cannot pick up my dagger and carve out the parts of you that I love. The beautiful, intelligent, courageous parts and leave the rest. I accept one with the other. You want me as your queen, to rule with you? Then let me. Do not thwart my words. Do not publicly scold me like you did in the hall in front of your men and the thralls. Thralls who also answer to me. Let us appear united. Always. Even when we are not. As queen, I need their respect, particularly, in your absence. You, my love, are the King. I am proud of who you had to be and everything you endured to achieve this. But, I ask you to remember that you are my king regardless if you rule over Kattegat or any other kingdom. You were my king first. Before any of this." Raising her hand, she motioned to the room around them.

Lowering his eyes, he stared at her shoulder, his gaze giving the impression his mind was somewhere far-away. Colour crept up the skin on his neck to his cheeks, but his expression remained blank.

This was a process she was familiar with. The stillness that surrounded him as her words begun their slow descent into his mind. As he fought to contain his natural reaction of flaring and spitting words loaded with spite. As she watched, he closed his eyes and lowered his head. The tension in his jaw appeared to ease and his shoulders softened.

Swallowing, he turned back to her. Running his tongue along his lower lip, he studied her face and the row of stitches on her head. "I know," he whispered so low, she had to see his lips move to know he had spoken.

Clearing his throat, he straightened as if to slough away the conversation. "If you say you are comfortable, I will go to the feast then. People will talk if I do not greet a visiting king. I will check on you in a while and...I won't stay until the last keg."

"Of course," she nodded knowing she had gotten through. The best outcome for them both was for him to sit and brood over the sentiment of her speech, digesting her words.

Reaching forward he took her hand, pressing her knuckles to his lips. Closing his eyes, he filled his lungs with breath. The words I love you were caught in his throat, but she could still see them in his eyes.

Nodding, as if to himself, he released her hand and grabbed his crutch, heaving himself to stand. Crossing the room, he exited their chambre, closing the door behind without looking back. She could hear his voice through the thick wood, likely giving the waiting thrall and guards their commands.

Sinking back against her pillow, Aethelswith let out her own held breath. Ivar's will could not be broken but she could try and apply enough pressure to see it bend. Existing in emotional isolation for much of his life, she had to slip through the cracks in his defenses. These defenses built to lessen the pain of a cruel world designed for the strong. She understood his mind. Understood how it stretched and snapped back into pattern. It was time to let it rest and not allow herself to wilt from his distance. She could not allow herself to wilt from anything. 

—

Not daring to call Freydis and not wanting another slave, she threw back the furs and cautiously made her way to her dressing area. Selecting her most ornate gown, she held it up, eyeing the rich teal and gold detailing with a matching fox fur trimmed overcoat. It was the finest outfit she had ever owned. From her beloved, of course. Steadying herself, with a hand on the table, she slowly put it on.

Straps tucked in and near impossible to reach laces drawn, she took a seat at their table. Placing a multi-string necklace of gold with a ruby pendant on her chest, she looped together the toggle behind her neck. Another extravagant gift from Ivar not long after their arrival in Kattegat.

She added the matching intricately threaded pearl headpiece, forming an elaborate band across her forehead. It concealed her wound and had the look of a royal headdress. Who needs a crown, she smiled to herself? Completing her ensemble with drop gold and pearl earrings, she applied the thinnest layer of charcoal to her eyes. Keeping it simple, she was not partial to the bolder style of the Vikings. Dipping her finger into pigment power, she spread the ruby colour on her full lips, dabbing and smoothing what was left on her fingers across her high cheekbones.

Straightening in her chair, she took in her appearance in the polished obsidian plaque standing on their desk. Her exquisite dress fit like a second skin, the bone inlaid bodice pushed and held her bust in place, the swell of her cleavage just visible above the dress's square neck. She looked regal. Beautiful. Tonight she would be Ivar's queen.

—

The din of the feast grew loud as she opened the door of their chamber. The two guards jumped into line behind her as she made her way down the corridor toward the sounds of music and roaring laughter.

Sitting on his throne, Ivar was absorbed in conversation with Loni who knelt beside him on the platform. Stopping at the entrance to the great room, she watched Loni use his elbow to nudge Ivar to look in her direction. His face, still animated from talking, dropped at the sight of her. She was a vision. A Goddess. Brightness hit his eyes first, followed by both surprise and wonder. Standing in place, Aethelswith held her clasped hands in front of her. With the slightest of smiles and her chin held level she stared back at him as if they were the only two people in the crowded hall.

Pushing himself to stand, he grabbed his crutch and began descending the steps in front of their chairs. At the bottom, he stopped and held his hand out to her. Grasping onto the moment just an instant longer, she moved gracefully forward, taking his hand and bowing her head to honour him.

His chest puffed with a deep breath and his blue eyes beamed with pride. She dropped her hand and lifted her gown to climb the stairs, Ivar following right behind.

In front of her throne, Aethelswith gazed out, scanning the people in the large room. The music continued but the chatter died down to almost nothing. All eyes were on her and she smiled looking at their faces, feeling the intensity of Ivar's eyes on her.

Holding his brass goblet out for her to take, she turned to him and accepted it. Lifting it toward the crowd, she was immediately met with a wall of raised horns. Despite lutes and the chime of string music, with so many people and no one speaking, the hall felt silent.

Smiling again, she turned to Ivar and waited. Understanding her lift of the brow, he smiled and yelled, "SKOLL!"

Aethelswith and the room drank, following by deafening whoops and hollers. Taking their places in their seats, Ivar grabbed the armrest of her chair and yanked her throne against his, making her laugh out loud. Grabbing her hand, he pressed her palm to his face and leaned toward her ear.

"I do not deserve you. You are...." he paused, his eyes, alive with adoration, jumped between each of her eyes and the beaded headdress down to the necklace on her chest. He closed his eyes for a moment as if to sear the image of her into the lining of his mind. "I will be a better king for you."

Holding up his cup in her hand, she smiled and whispered, "Skoll."

Taking a sip, she patted her lips with the back of her hand and passed the goblet over. Straightening, he drank not looking away from her perfect face. Leaning forward, he could resist no longer. Pressing his lips to hers, he held his mouth in place before sitting up and holding their clasped hands to his chest.

"I know I am difficult and demanding. Even cold to you at times. But... I worry."

"Worry? You must know how much I love you."

"I do," he nodded looking down at their hands pressed against the black fabric of his tunic. Looking back, he leaned even closer, so close she could feel his breath on her mouth. "I see how much you love me, every time you look into my eyes. Like you are now. It makes my skin ignite and I feel every part of my flesh you have ever touched."

She squinted, not understanding. "And yet, you worry."

"I worry that I may not be the man, within, that you think you see when you look at me. Perhaps, that is why I rush you to marry. Bind you to me before you realize what I actually am; a crippled boy who cannot share a thing. I will try Aethelswith, I will. Please, love me despite it all."

"I will always be one person in your life who knows exactly who you are, Ivar. I see you and I always have. As I said, you are my king. My love. Whether you sit on a throne or on the ground. In a great hall, like this, or a tent with a grass floor." Pulling their clasped hands toward her, she kissed the top of his hand.

Reaching forward, he pulled her into a kiss. In front of a room of his people, he kissed her with all the love and passion in his beating heart. Finally pulling his lips away, he rested his forehead to hers and closed his eyes from the overwhelming affection running through his bones.

"Ivar?"

"Yes, beautiful Aethelswith."

She smiled, "Will you be returning my hand?"

"Never."

—

Eyes set on the two occupied thrones, the visiting king from the city of splayed whales, narrowed his eyes and watched the young king hold his woman's hand. Head pressed to head as if in some trance.

"I see why they call Ivar the enamored king. I would be enamored too." Harald nudged Hvitserk with his arm.

Looking up to Ivar and Aethelswith, Hvitserk peered out over the rim of his cup.

"I have never seen a woman like that before," Herald chuckled warmly. "I am happy for him."

"Yes, she is something," Hvitserk replied, taking another drink.

"You do not care for Ivar's woman?"

"She is fine. I....I actually do like her. A great deal." Shrugging, he said nothing further.

Herald turned to look at him, nodding for him to continue.

"Despite being a Christian, she has done nothing wrong. In fact, everything about her is right. Well, other than she has turned my brother mad in the head with love."

"Does she return his sentiment?"

"Immensely."

"Ivar is a lucky man." Harald slapped Hvitserk's back. "A man's obsession is his greatest weakness. I know this more than anyone," he chuckled again.

Lifting his cup, Harald called out, "To the dangers of love!"

.


	8. Chapter 8

The water had lost it's steam and yet she lingered in the wooden tub that sat in the corner of their chamber. Turning over, she rested her chin on the outer rim extending her arm over the edge and watched the drops of water trickle off her fingers. Looking up, she stared at the back of Ivar's chair. Slouched over his worktable, he studied papers filled with figures and had been since after the evening meal.

The recent events seemed to pull his eye back to center and over the last week, he had waived off his usual late-night cups of ale with his brother and other men in the hall. Instead, he waited until the visiting king returned to his lodgings before withdrawing and making his way back to her.

Knowing the agreement between Ivar and Harald, she understood why Ivar would not dare leave the king alone with his men. People were fickle and in Kattegat, like any other place, alliances could shift with the wind. None the less, Aethelswith was happy to have him back, sharing her space each night, though, she was yet to reap all the benefits of his return.

"Would you care to join me?" she asked the back of his head. His hair freshly plated in one braid over his crown and down the back of his neck.

"Would you care to be my wife?" he replied in a disinterested tone.

Rolling her eyes, she pushed herself to stand and grabbed the drying towel that had been left beside the tub on her stool. The latest gift from Ivar to prevent any further falls climbing from the tub. It was made with rich coloured wood and had a carved heart in the center. Each time she placed her foot down, she was reminded of the small decorative box of charcoal he had gifted her while in the camp.

Patting the water off her body, she wrapped her robe around her shoulders, leaving the front open with the ties dangling at her sides. Noticing Ivar had not lifted his head to catch a glimpse as she walked passed, she swiped a little brown bottle off the table in her dressing area and climbed onto their bed.

Sitting straight against the headboard she drew up her knees and began pouring small drops of oil out of the bottle onto the skin of her legs. With small circles starting at her ankles, she worked it in all the way up to just below her groin.

"What are you doing?" Ivar asked from the table which sat facing the bed. His eyes staying fixed on the rows of tallies.

"You know my skin gets dry when the weather starts to shift." Opening the robe wider, she spread the oil over the side of her hip. "The cold comes so much earlier here than at home."

Lifting his eyes to her, he appeared to scowl, visibly straining to hold his stern demeanour. "Is this not your home?" his eyebrows lifted.

"You are my home. Wherever you are. I would live with you in a kindling box. In fact," she looked up and smiled, "I have!" Parting her knees just enough, she ran the oil up her inner thigh. "And...you know what I meant when I said home."

"And...I know what you are doing now." Clearing his throat, he forced a cough, looking back down to his work.

"I have no idea what you are talking about." She bit the inside of her cheek to stop herself from smiling.

Opening the front of her robe, she shimmied her shoulders free, letting it slip behind, exposing her body entirely. Pouring droplets of oil into her hands, she rubbed them together to warm the slick liquid before smoothing it down each arm.

"You started bathing in the evenings and you dismiss that slave of yours as soon as I return for the night."

"She is terrified of you."

"She should be," he scoffed. "What is that?" he asked, finally returning his eyes to her. Despite his cool tone, his bright eyes burned into her, raking over her round breasts and soft pink nipples, her smooth legs and delicious thighs, all shining warmly in the light from the candles. Narrowing his eyes at her disguised nothing.

"Skin oil. Brana and I each bought a bottle at the market today. It has the scent of jasmine. Would you like to smell?

"Would you like to marry me?" he crooned sarcastically.

Not responding, she looked up to find his expression darkened, his severe eyes still blazing over her skin.

"You think I became the leader of the Great Army and King of Kattegat because I am weak, Aethelswith?" Clucking his tongue, he shook his head and shot her one of his wicked smiles. "No, my sweet. I did not."

Undeterred, she began to spread the oil onto her breasts. A hand on each side, smoothing and tugging the already supple flesh. Her nipples responded to the cool air and her slow touch and, of course, his vehement stare.

Grunting lowly, Ivar cleared his throat again. Shifting in his chair, he attempted to adjust the front of his leathers, beginning to constrict his growing erection.

"I can look," he ribbed, "you are still my woman. But I will not touch until you agree to my terms."

"I agree to nothing," she replied, not looking up. His tone reminding her how he addressed his men.

Parting her legs further, she dropped oil onto her belly. The amber coloured droplets ran down to her small mound of hair.

Pushing the table forward, Ivar dropped from his seat to the floor and, with a huff, crawled towards her. Heaving himself up onto the large trunk at the base of their bed, he dropped to his tummy, resting on the intricately carved wooden lid.

"Stop it, Aethelswith," he warned.

"Or what, my love?" she replied sweetly, glancing up to his riled face and stiff jaw, nostrils flaring wide. "You said yourself that you can look. So....look."

Unable to stop himself, he was mesmerized by her body. Her slender shoulders and bare chest, flat tummy and round hips, smooth thighs and the utter gold that lay between. Gods, he missed her taste and smell, how her wetness felt when he was buried deep. His face looked pained and the sound of air sucking in through his nose nearly pushed Aethelswith to laugh.

Looking up at the same time, their eyes met, and she dropped her knees even wider, pouring the oil directly onto her core. Snarling, he gritted his teeth, his hardness jutting into the side of the trunk. His mind was flooded with thoughts of him on top of her, sucking her tits and shoving his tongue into her mouth.

"Gods!" he exclaimed out loud, with her legs bared wide, watching her rub her breasts and quietly whine. How he had missed her perfect face beaming up at him while he called her his queen, and the Goddess of his dreams as he withdrew only to fill her warm, tight womb again.

Wetting her lips with her tongue, she languidly leaned back against the pillows, sliding her hands down the tops of her legs, then back up the inside of her thighs. The pads of her fingers beginning to gently smooth the oil over her silken folds. Keeping her eyes on him, she tipped up her chin and moaned.

Unable to break his trance, Ivar's mouth fell open and with hooded eyes, he rutted his groin hard against the side of the wooden chest.

"Aethelswith! Stop this right now!" he scolded watching her relish his hunger; her hands touching the tender parts of her body that belonged to him.

"This feels lovely," she breathed out, gently moving her hips. "I have been so dry lately."

Letting her knees fall completely open flat to the bed, she pushed her hips up, letting out a soft whimper before sliding her finger right inside.

"Fuck!" Ivar roared.

Withdrawing, she swirled her wetness up encircling her sensitive nub. Whimpering again, she closed her eyes and gently bucked her hips.

"Aethelswith!" Ivar shouted loud enough for the guards in the corridor to glance at one another.

"My king," she spoke not opening her eyes, continuing to knead her own breast. "Do you not wish to remind me that I am yours?"

A bestial growl rang out through their room as Ivar leaned to one side and unbuckled his top leathers. Bracing himself on the chest with his other arm, he dropped the heavy jacket onto the floor, awkwardly pulling his green tunic off his shoulders. Not once lifting his threatening eyes from her exquisite form.

Increasing her pace, Aethelswith rocked her hips and ran her finger back and forth along her slippery slit. Breathing faster, she stopped only to bring her fingers to her mouth and lick her own wetness off.

"It is so unfortunate, my beloved Ivar, that you choose to ride that piece of furniture stead of this," dropping her hands to her womanhood, she spread her folds apart, showing him her shining pink hole. Flexing her hip, she pushed her wide-open sex forward.

With the scream of death, Ivar launched himself forward. Dragging himself between her legs, he looked like a lion ready to rip meat from her ribs. Slamming his mouth into her stretched apart cunt, he drove his tongue deep inside her. Digging hard, he growled, unlike any man but a demon possessed. Aethelswith squealed with elation. Pushing her pelvis up into his face, she held his braid, lifting her chin to the ceiling in both ecstasy and relief.

"Yes, my warrior," she cried out.

Snapping his head up, his face was glistening with her desire and his eyes were wild as if he had just feasted on her blood.

"You will pay for this," he sneered.

Rolling onto his back, he grunted, frantically ripping open and pulling down the front of his pants. His painful erecting slapped his stomach, the tip nearly purple and aching.

"Yes, punish me," she rushed, needy for his touch. "Please, my king, fuck me."

Like in a rage, he climbed back between her legs, leaning on a forearm and grabbed the base of his shaft slamming into her hard. Freezing, they both gasped from the sensation after the agonizing months without. Looking down, his mouth fell slack and his eyes began to soften, filling with emotion but within an instant, the monster within returned. His eyes grew dark and his lips curled back, exposing his sharp teeth. Digging his hand under her shoulder, he pushed his palm up to her head and yanked back a fistful of her hair. Gasping again, her eyes shot wide as she stared back at his savage expression. Hovering above and perilously slow, he ran his long tongue from her chin, across her mouth and up to her forehead. "You are mine!" he roared, thrusting his hips forward. "You. Are. Mine!" he bellowed, driving into her in time with each pronounced word.

Raising her hands above the pillows, she pressed, bracing herself against the bed.

"Is this what you wanted? Hmm?" he growled. "My cock as punishment?" He drove her harder and harder, pausing only to withdraw enough to bring his tip to her entrance before thrusting back in.

"Yes," she choked out, struggling to swallow with her head being pinned back.

"How dare you tease me!" he slammed into her roughly. "Tease me with your pretty, pink cunt. Your sweet little hole. I'm going to fuck it until my seed spills out." Rutting faster, the frame of the bed began to slam against the wall. Leaning down, he pressed his bared teeth against her cheek fighting the urge to rip into her face and thrash. "You are mine! Mine!" he shouted over and over, pounding into her as if he wanted to break her.

Her incoherent cries mixed with her frantic breath, ceased suddenly as her finish exploded. Dropping her hands to his shoulders, she pushed against him, rigid, her eyes squeezing closed as her womanhood clenched and pulsed.

Growing frenzied his movements became heavy, his arms shook from the weight of his body. His peak hit with the strength of a battle ram. Back stiffening, his cock speared her one last time before he shot his milt deep inside, collapsing forward, his broad chest pressing her into the mattress.

Laying there, out of breath, with closed eyes and tingling hands, he was lulled to near unconsciousness by the sound of his own heart racing.

The distant sound of men yelling skoll drew Ivar back from the void. With effort, he pulled out and rolled off, slumping onto his back beside.Both looked up at the ceiling with their bodies still thrumming, unable to string words together.

"Did I hurt you?" he whispered after some time.

Glancing over, she smiled. "No, I am well. Very well." She smiled again, her fingers latching onto his hand.

The sound of a pained sob snapped her attention back to him. Contorted in sorrow, his chin trembled as tears spilled down the sides of his eyes streaming toward his temples. Clambering up onto her knees, she crawled atop him and straddle his waist. Searching his face, her own face, mirrored his anguish.

"Please Aethelswith, marry me. I love you so much. Be my queen," he choked. "I am hurting. You have to figure out a way," he bawled, "I feel like my heart is breaking apart." Shaking his head, his wide eyes looking up at her, showed the depth of his torment.

"I will find a way," she nodded frantically, her own tears burning down her face. "We will figure out a way," she cried, wanting so desperately to ease his hurt. Bending forward, she pressed her lips to his, feeling every bit of his suffering. Lowering her mouth to his ear, she whispered, "It is not about if I will marry you, only when and remember what you said, my love, nothing can part us ever. Not even death."

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	9. Chapter 9

The sounds of etching on paper tricked his mind into feeling as if he had lived that very moment before. There was something in the way those scratches on her smooth paper warmed his senses, tugging at something deep in his stomach. Perhaps, his body without the influence of his mind was recalling a time in his life when he was most content. Without a city to govern with the backdrop of retaliation, no religion or struggles for power, no toils to be heard, only the comforting, addictive experience of being alone with his Aethelswith.

It left him to wonder if their love, at the beginning, was what kept them together now or would it be their love at the end that would define their lives. That is what he chose to believe regardless of their current trials. Their strength to endure each other's impediments is what set them apart as if they had walked this same soil but in another life, side by side, in another time. Only the Gods held the wisdom to explain the truth but when it came to their destinies being tied, he knew in his bones he was right.

Studying her now, with her eyes down, the thin wisps of black in her drawing beginning to take shape, he watched the way her tongue slid out of her mouth, running back and forth over her lip. A sign of her most poised concentration as her hands created the image already complete in her imagination. She, herself, was a work of art. Perfectly carved. Each feature of her face exquisitely created. If he had sat down with Frigg herself and explained every detail he desired in the appearance of his one-day true love, Aethelswith was truly the result.

Something in the way her body held still, her mind utterly focussed on her drawing that made him want to throw his cup of ale onto the sketch of the vase of flowers. Spoil it all and draw her attention back to him. Attention he was so desperately craving. She was a cruel little thing, he thought, as his eyes roamed over her body.

If it had been his decision their union would have been blessed upon arriving home from England. So, on slow afternoons like the current one, they could be spending their time on more meaningful endeavors. The one he had on his mind, at the moment, involved her sitting on his face. Yes, that would be nice, he sighed with a groan, his eyes tracing the line of her silhouette, savouring how each time she leaned forward, he could spy down the front of her dress.

Do not start, he silently scolded himself, sidelining the thought, knowing the slip up the previous week when he succumbed to her tricks only undermined him. He may be mightier than most warriors, possess transcendent qualities, Gods-like even, but he was still a man with a very lonely prick with a beautiful queen with a beautiful cunt. GODS, he thought to himself, grumbling under his breath, adjusting his cock straining in his leathers. As his woman, he knew she understood the two urges that drove him, fucking and killing and the latter, these days, was providing him no thrill at all.

Clearing his throat, he watched her, waiting for her to glance up. Grunting through his nose when she didn't.

"If you were wondering... I am still suffering," he cleared his throat again, "touching you that once provided no relief."

"None?" she asked, her lips pressed together, her soft blue eyes staying fixed on the striations forming the feathers of a bird's wing.

Dropping his head to one side, his eyes bore into her, feeling impatient. She had a lot of nerve to answer with levity, following such a sincere admission. Looking over to the crackling fire, he snapped his gaze back, glaring in a way that would make a blind man uncomfortable. Sulking down further into his chair, he lowered his chin still observing her.

"This is worse than before.... Before...you know. I should know better but I am a loving, passionate person, after all, so it is your fault Aethelswith. You would think that I would be used to you disappointing me by now. But here we are."

Scoffing under her breath, she blinked up to him, her eyes providing not a shred of sympathy. What a feisty, fierce woman, he thought, fit inside a miniature, enticing body. Disregarding her unimpressed gaze, he wet his lips, shrugging his shoulders as if her attitude was to be expected.

"But I will say, Aethelswith, that if you carry on to much longer, clutching your hollow values as you do, I might have to start jerking off in front of one of those ambitious slaves."

"That would be Freydis."

Scrunching his nose in disgust, he twisted his lips up. "My high standards would not allow for that."

"Only royalty for the king?"

"Only you for the king," he clucked his tongue and winked.

Biting her lip between her teeth, she stared out from between her long, blonde lashes. He could see she was fighting the urge to laugh.

"If you were wondering...." Tipping her head, she shot him a coy smile, "You, Ivar Ragnarsson, are a shit."

"Nice language, Aethelswith!" he scolded with a grin. "You talk to your god with that mouth?"

Smirking to herself, he could tell that she was holding back some perverse, witty comment. Instead, she looked back to her drawing, her hand resuming the soft scores across the parchment.

Huffing at her lack of response, his smile faded and his eyes roamed the room before settling back on her, still, in his opinion, ignoring him and being rude.

"Aethelswith?"

Looking up, she lifted her brows.

"It hurts me that you drive me to say such awful things to you. I hope you realize this entire rift is your doing. Because of your God."

"Ivar, this is such a lovely quiet day. Can we please leave God out of the conversation?"

"No!" he exploded, slamming the palm of his hand down on the desk.

Startling, she dropped her charcoal, bringing her hand to her chest as if to calm her racing heart. Both of their eyes followed the cylinder of coal rolling toward the edge of the table before it tipped over and shattered on the floor.

Leaning forward, his cutting eyes flicked back to her. "Me or your god, Aethelswith? Choose."

"You are asking me a question there is no answer to," she replied in a steady voice, her eyes showing compassion.

Flopping back in his chair, he lifted one of his unbound legs, shifting it to stretch out below the table.

"Maybe I will rethink my hatred of Freydis."

Sighing, she rolled her eyes. "Ivar, perhaps try your own hand with my charcoals. Your mind is restless and you are trying to provoke me."

"I am proficient at anything I try, Aethelswith. I would not want to create a masterpiece on my first attempt and undermine your already flimsy confidence."

Scrunching her brow, she studied him again. "How selfless of you. Always putting my feelings ahead of your own."

Pushing her seat back, she stood, grabbing a cloth from the table and wiped the sooty smudges from her fingers.

"You are going out?" He straightened, unable to mask his disappointment.

"Yes, you know that I am."

"Hmm," he mumbled under his breath, watching her, waiting, hoping she would ask if it was still alright. She asked nothing.

"Aethelswith?"

"Yes, my love."

"Do I not provide for you?"

Glancing over at him, she looked both unimpressed and suspicious.

"Do I not see that you have everything you need?" his voice shot up to a higher pitch as it did when he was being his most dramatic. "Are you unhappy with the level of comfort we enjoy as King and... whatever you are?" he flipped his hand dismissively.

"Ivar, you are looking for a fight. Stop."

With a smug expression, he continued on adding even more flair to the tone of his voice. "I am simply wondering why you feel the need to look for work. Hmm? Really Aethelswith, you want to be a wet nurse? A milkmaid to the young?"

"I beg your pardon?" She narrowed her eyes, confused as to where he was leading.

"Your breasts, Aethelswith. They are on display! You are advertising for work by wearing that dress, no? Am, I wrong?" His eyebrows shot so high on his face, she nearly laughed.

"For the love of God," she groaned, rolling her eyes and snorting at his absurdity. "You are ridiculous, Ivar. They are not."

"Look at that neckline, Aethelswith! How hypocritical. Do you not agree? Christian," he sneered.

"Is that supposed to be an insult? Calling me a Christian?" she smiled. "As far as looking for work, my customers would be disappointed when their babies go hungry from my lack of milk. Would you care to try?"

"Try what?"

"Breastfeeding." She glanced down at her cleavage.

"Aethelswith!" he objected as if offended. "You are not funny."

"Actually, I am."

"No, you are obviously oblivious to the number of times in a day I try NOT to imagine your tits in my face."

Walking around the table to her dressing area, she turned her back to him and began fixing her hair, pinning up the loose strands around her face.

"Ivar, my beloved, you are going to brood yourself to death. I am going to Gussr and Nanna's for supper with Brana and Loni. If you recall," she turned, looking at him with stern eyes, "I invited you and you declined so... I will see you later tonight."

With one last flick at her hair to cover the thin red line where her stitches had been removed, she turned and walked past him toward the door.

"Send my regards to your real family," he jabbed sliding even further down into his chair. His eyes roamed the room looking for anything to distract her with and keep her from leaving.

"Thank you, I will," she replied in an unruffled voice. "In the meantime, I will leave you alone to think on this delightful exchange as I know there is no better punishment for you than to sit alone with your thoughts. I will see you this evening."

"Kiss!" he shouted up into the air.

Turning, she walked back to him, stopping behind his chair and rose onto her tippy toes to kiss his waiting lips, on his bent back face. "I love you," she whispered before turning and heading again toward the door.

"Then wear a fucking shall!" he barked over his shoulder as she opened and closed the door behind.

Typical defiance, he thought, shaking his head as he straightened and turned in his chair to listen. Once he detected the faint jostle of blades and heavy footsteps of his men following her down the corridor, he relaxed and turned in his seat, slumping again and resuming his miserable mood.

—

Sitting in silence, he stared at the small, etched bird with a long beak, sipping nectar from the blossom of a flower on the parchment left on the table. Not his favourite but the likeness was fair. Sighing out loud, he pulled his legs upright from under the desk, frustration, horniness but mostly rejection still festering within. How can she be so unsympathetic, he asked himself, adjusting in his chair, getting ready to stand.

It was only mid-afternoon and he was bored. A thought struck that it had been months since he last practiced archery up at the grounds. Always, instead, grabbing his ax or a blade, some weapon that felt violent. There was nothing quite like the feel of his bow in the palm of his hand, lining up the tip of the arrow and slowly exhaling to quiet his thoughts. Distract him from the almost painful need to rub one out. Scoffing, he looked up to the ceiling and nearly laughed. He loved her so much, he could not even accomplish that without the help of her small hands.

The door opened and closed behind him and he tilted his head toward her, waiting. When she said nothing he broke the silence. "Come to your senses and see that I was right about your dress?"

"It is me, my King," a small voice replied.

Pushing on the table, he slid his chair around to see Freydis standing a few paces away. Much closer than he expected, not having heard her cross the room.

"The queen is not here."

"Yes, I know," she smiled faintly but her nerves still showed.

"Then, why are you here?" he asked, his tone aggressive.

"Her grace has gone to visit her friend and his wife in town."

Ivar's nostrils flared with annoyance. "I did not ask you where she had gone. I know the whereabouts of my woman. Why are you here?"

"I just heard.."

"Heard what?" he cut her off.

Widening her eyes, she continued, almost bashfully, "Is there anything I can do for you?"

"What!" Ivar glared at her, squinting his eyes. This girl was either too stupid to sense the danger she was in or too ambitious to care.

"I have been the companion to men that I have served in the past. I was wondering..."

Holding up his hand, he motioned for her to stop speaking. Dropping his chin, he looked at her. Truly looked at her.

"Step closer," he commanded.

Following his instruction, she took two steps forward, her arms hanging at her sides.

"Take off your apron," he ordered.

Stifling a pinched smile, she untied the back of her apron and dipped her head forward sliding the loop off her neck, dropping it to the floor beside.

Staring, his eyes roamed her plain beige dress that showed little flesh as she subtly inhaled filling her lungs with air. Her breasts below the thick fabric pushed forward, looking more pronounced.

"Lift her chin, he quipped. "I want to see your skin."

Lifting her chin, she let her lips fall open. Her eyes never leaving his scrutinizing stare.

"Do you like what you see, my king?"

"Do you know what I see?"

She smiled, straightening, not answering his question, looking rather pleased.

"I see where your pulse is on your throat. I see where the large vein that carries your blood runs down your neck. The very place I will cut into with my ax IF YOU EVER COME INTO THIS CHAMBRE WITHOUT MY WIFE AGAIN," he boomed. "Do not think, for a second, that because you were the whore to some lord that I will take interest. I will NEVER take interest in anyone but my queen," he spat viciously. Leaning forward, he pointed his figure, dropping the volume of his voice to a threatening whisper, "and remember that she is much kinder and more trusting than me. She is also intelligent, so she will tire of you soon despite you speaking her tongue. And, when she does, you will get what you deserve. Now," he shook his finger at her again, "If you EVER," he shouted again, "enter our bedroom while not in her company, I will cut that insipid smile right off your face before I cut off your fucking head. GET OUT!"

Shaking, with tears in her large eyes, she began to shuffle backward, "Y'Yes, my king," she stuttered. "My apologies, my king," she cried, before turning and rushing out of the room, forgetting her apron on the floor.

Wincing from the pain in his legs and his now worse state of mind, he pushed himself to stand and grabbed his crutch. Making his way over to where she had stood, he bent down and snatched the garment off the floor. Walking to the hearth he threw the apron into the fire, never taking his eyes off the flames until there was nothing left.

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	10. Chapter 10

"Aethelswith?" Harald's smooth voice rumbled softly as he placed his arm around her lower back, his other hand delicately taking her wrist. His bearded face and rich voice sounding, suddenly, so close to the side of her neck.

"Princess," he whispered, "are you alright?"

"I..." she started to respond but stopped as awareness rushed back overwhelming her, realizing she was leaning against his side, braced by his arm.

A sharp voice cut through her fog like a blade before she could say anything further.

"Would you care to explain why you are embracing my woman?"

"Ivar..." she breathed out, narrowing her eyes, seeing his angry face floating toward her. Squinting, she watched the way his torso dipped and rose as he crossed the hall using his crutch as leverage.

"Aethelswith seems unwell," Harald explained with his body still bend forward, looking down at her with concern.

Reaching for her, Ivar grabbed her waist, snatching her from Harald's grasp like a doll, using his other hand to slide his leg forward to complete his step.

"She is mine," Aethelswith heard him say but his voice sounded strange. Everything around her sounded strange; the footsteps of others, the slaves clearing the tables.

"That... I am aware of," Harald replied stepping back, raising his hands as if to surrender. His face was stern but there was a glint of something indiscernible in his eye. "We were talking about her homeland and she seemed to lose her line of thought. The colour drained from her face, so I was walking her to a bench to sit. In the spirit of amity, of course," the corners of his mouth lifted in an intended smile as he subtly bowed his head.

"Spirit of conquest, perhaps," Ivar replied, lowering his eyes to her. "Aethelswith?" he tipped his head back to better see her face. "What is going on?"

"Yes, I just..." she stammered, sounding dazed.

Pulling her close against his chest, he pressed his lips to her forehead, his eyes drifting back up to Harald. "Are you unwell?" he whispered into her hair.

"I.... I did not intend to stir.... um...," she sighed, frustrated with her confusion. "My mind was somewhere else."

"Where was your mind, Aethelswith?" Ivar asked in a soft voice.

"I..., I am not certain." Blinking, she raised her eyebrows, disorientated. "I must just be tired tonight."

"My sweet," sliding his hand down her back, he pulled her tighter to his front. "It is morning. We have just finished first meal."

"I believe so," she closed her eyes.

"What are saying?"

"I will take my leave then if you have her," Harald spoke from where he waited, standing to the side.

"Yess," Ivar hissed, sounding like a snake. "I have her." Running his hands up and down the backs of her arms, he watched Harald turn and make his way out through the hall doors and into the muted, morning sun.

"My love," she uttered against the leathers of his chest. "The light in here is too bright. I will retire if I am not needed this evening."

"Aethelswith? You are making no sense. I am taking you back to our room and calling for the healer."

"Do not fuss. I am sure I am just tired."

"You are shaking and your skin feels damp. I will take you back regardless."

"No, Ivar." Pushing away from him, she peered up at his face. Focussing, with effort, not to appear as unsteady as she felt. "I will just go to sleep anyway," she dropped her voice to a volume only he could hear. "I believe.... yes, yes he was...Harald was asking questions about my brother's army and land. Many questions. Stay with him...stay with the men....yes, with the men," she repeated, nodding her head. "I will be fine. Wake me later if I am still asleep and I am sure I will feel fresh again."

Looking down at her, he eyed her carefully, noticing the dark skin below her eyes. Pulling her hand to his lips, he kissed her fingers before nodding his concession. "You look like you have not slept." His eyes settled back on the group of men outside the hall doors, Harald included, deep in discussion. "Do you need..."

"No,' she interrupted. "I can make my own way. I am fine."

"Very well, my sweet. I will check on you shortly." Bending down, he kissed her balmy lips, squeezing her hand before she turned and made her way to the corridor.

—

"My Lady?"

Opening her eyes, she saw Freydis kneeling on the floor beside the bed. Her arm was extended, holding what felt like a damp cloth to Aethelswith's forehead. The room was barely lit and she struggled to make out the details of the young thrall's face.

"Is it night?"

"No, my lady, the evening meal will be served soon. The light is shuttered...for your eyes."

"My..."

"The light was bothering you."

Digging her elbows into the bed, she attempted to push herself up but weakness and nausea forced her down flat, souring the backs of her cheeks and puckering her mouth. Lowering her head to the pillow, her eyelids felt too heavy to keep open.

"Oh, my lady, please. You must try and wake a little. See if you can eat or try some more water."

"More?" she wasn't following. "I had.... honeyed oats and milk...." the thought faded away as a peaceful feeling lulled her back to some nowhere place.

"But, that was yesterday, my lady. You do not have even a crumb left in your tummy. Please."

"Ivar," she murmured.

"He was with you all night and most of the day. He is outside now speaking with the healer."

Sighing, she heard her own breath leave her dry mouth, the suspended feeling making her mind drift, sweeping her back into oblivion.

—

"Aethelswith? Aethelswith?"

Scrunching her brows together, she could hear Ivar's voice echoing as if he was calling her from the end of a long, long corridor. "Wake up, my little one," he said softly. The tenor in his voice rippled in her ears like the rolling waves she felt she was riding.

Squeezing her closed eyes tighter, she worked to pull herself up in the direction of his voice.

"Get the healer back in hear," be snapped at someone.

Her eyes flickered open, tenderness causing her to recoil as her painful eyes were met by a wall of blinding light. Closing them, she tried again cracking them slightly and peaking through her long, thick lashes. Slowly adjusting, his startling blue eyes came into her line of sight. Blinking hard, she attempted to sit up but was met with his cool hands on her bare shoulders, pressing her back down. Struggling to find words in her disarrayed mind, the only thought she could string was that, for the first time, his hands did not feel warm.

"Is it night?" she tried clearing her dry throat but started to hack, coughing hard.

Ivar's face lowered to hers as if he was suspended over the bed. It did not make sense. Nothing did. A thought like a plume of smoke entered her mind that perhaps he was not there at all and this was a dream. The idea evaporated as quickly as it formed and in various directions, she could hear the sounds of whispers but she was too tired to care.

Fingers touched her face, pushing the skin of her eyelids apart. Something grabbed her tongue, pulling it out, tugging it to either side.

Irritation forced her eyes open again and she could see Ivar standing over someone's shoulder. Someone who she would have been able to see if she turned her head to look but that seemed exhausting. It was all too much, but something must have happened. She recognized the helplessness on Ivar's face.

"It is midday. First meal is done."

Had she asked a question? Letting her lids shut once again, she felt herself slipping away.

"Aethelswith!" Ivar said sharply. "Stay awake."

Something poked her finger, making it sting... or had she just been bitten? A snake? A rodent? Was any of this real, her loose thoughts danced, undecidedly.

"Freydis said supper was coming," she heard herself speak.

"That was days ago. You have been sleeping since then. Sleeping or being sick. Do you recall nothing?" he asked.

"Pardon?"

She wanted him to stop talking. The brightness, the noise, none of it was helping. She wanted to be left alone. Swallowing again, she choked out a cough, her throat felt raw and swollen.

"Get that fucking slave in here," Ivar yelled, making her turn away and press her face into the pillow. The bed and room, the world around her felt like it was spinning.

"My king," a brittle voice came from somewhere beside. Her thoughts were just lucid enough to recognize it as the woman who had stitched her head. "My king, we will try getting her to suck a damp cloth. Freydis?" the lady seemed to speak in another direction, her voice sounding further away. "Lift the covers off her feet, we need to drive this heat down and out of her body."

There was another noise sounding much closer. Suspended, in and out of consciousness, she observed it without attempting to try and decipher where it was coming from. Realizing after it continued on that it was, in fact, her mumbling.

"Ivar?"

"I am right beside you," he answered.

Attempting to swallow, she lurched and then heaved, her stomach knotting painfully. Without any idea who was touching her, there was a hand holding something cool to the side of her neck. Suddenly aware she was retching onto her pillow, she was too weak to care.

"I am here, my sweet." His voice suddenly sounded like it was inside her mind. "You are sick, Aethelswith. Dangerously sick. You must fight to wake up and try and eat or drink something. You must."

Her stomach spasmed and she was only partially aware that her mouth was wide open, with her eyes rolling back in her head, gaging with no sound coming out.

"She cannot breathe!" he shouted frantically.

"Her body is doing its job, ridding itself of the illness," someone answered as she felt unknown hands touching various parts of her body.

"Do something!" he cried out again.

Cool air filled her lungs as she gasped loudly, her eyes still closed. Her mind was floating disconnected from the toils of her body. In the background, Ivar's orders rasped on, sounding like he was commanding his warriors. The sound seemed to fade, becoming lighter and soft until quiet replaced it; pure stillness filled the space around her. She did not attempt to fight the darkness, just exhaled softly, finding her way back to black.

.


	11. Chapter 11

Suspended, weightless, the sound of water rushed in her ears as she fought the frantic urge to inhale. Thrashing in her heavy nightdress, she kicked with all her strength, staring up to the opening in the broken ice. Brightness from the surface above shone down on her face through the frigid darkness.

The burning in the muscles of her arms and legs began to spread to her lungs. They felt so stretched from holding her breath that another moment held might force them to rupture. Struggling up through the icy water, she broke the surface just long enough to gulp a breath of air.

The relief was short as her body sank back below, the sound of the world cutting away to quiet. Shooting back up, she hammered the water, treading to keep her chin above, her arms aching and her eyes wide searching for his face.

Succumbing to the cold lake again, she fell back under into the silence. Fighting hard to the top, she burst up, gasping, locking eyes with the immense stag. The impressive beast stood perfectly still, his eyes dark watching her small body battle for her life. One hoof of its strong front legs stomped before it lowered his snout, shaking his mange and sniffing the air above her. 

It was now or die, she thought as she flung herself up, kicking with the last of her stamina. Catching a jagged lip on the edge with her fingers, she cried out, her other hand finding a ridge to hold onto.

Out of breath, she peered up at the commanding buck who again lowered his head and majestic rack toward her. He was so close that her fingers and face felt the warmth from his hot breath as fog blew out his snout.

Carefully, she reached a trembling hand up toward one of his thick horns. Desperation took over practical thought as she hoped he could somehow pull her from the water. The cold was turning her body numb and she knew, soon, her hands would let go.

Flinching, the animal grunted and jumped, slamming its front hooves down. Aethelswith's eyes shot wide as she felt the ice below her shift. Jumping again, the stag lifted his head and his large antlers. Eyes darting side to side, his ears pricked high as if he was listening to the hum of the snow gently fall.

Lurching, his body tensed as he looked over her head toward the tree line bordering the solid lake. His black eyes were fixed on a hooded figure carrying a bow and arrow walking out from the edge of the forest. 

Following the beast's line of sight, she turned, watching in horror as the faceless man, wearing a green cloak with chainmail armour, moved in their direction. The large deer spooked again, snorting and ramming his legs down onto the icy surface. Murmuring soothing sounds, she gripped the edge and tried to draw the deer's eyes back to hers. Knowing in every part of her waning mind, that the man was there to kill them both.

The animal grunted and huffed, dipped his nose back down to her before skitting back on the thick ice. Glancing behind, she saw that the hunter was halfway across the frozen clearing. Stopping, he pulled an arrow from his back and lowered to rest one knee down, notching the arrow swiftly with his gloved hands. Snapping her head back to the stag, her frantic eyes locked with his. She sensed that he heard her silent command to flee. He did not budge. He stayed, standing tall but afraid, guarding her from above.

"Go," she whimpered, her face breaking with tears. "Go!" she urged louder, shaking her head at the fact that he was stepping even closer. "You ridiculous animal!" she yelled. "How can you possibly save me. Run! Get! Please."

Feeling the whizz of the arrow overhead, she had no time to cry a warning. The arrow struck the buck's broad chest, hitting him dead centre. Rearing up onto his hind legs, his agonizing squeal screamed out, his front hooves landed hard on the ice, and he collapsed forward onto his knees. His immense rack smacked the frozen surface splintering off an extension of horns. Huffing with wild eyes, the beast struggled as fog heaved from its mouth and nostrils. Lowering his magnificent head, he folded onto his side, groaning in what sounded like defeat.

"No," she whispered, her eyes still set with his, as blood trickled from the side of his mouth.

She knew her time was also done as her body had lost all feeling. Still, with a gnarled frozen hand, she tried to reach out to him. Slipping, she fell from the edge and sank back under.

The cold shocked her face and head as she weakly kicked her legs for the surface. She sucked in another breath when she broke above for just an instant. Gazing up through the blur of swirling water, she looked straight into the faceless void of the cloaked soldier. Leaning over the opening in the ice, he watched her lose her fight. Staring at him, her movements slowed, letting the cold and exhaustion take over. She felt all the fear of dying and still chose to surrender. As the water filled her lungs, she eased her panic by imagining the face of the magnificent beast and his sharp, brilliant stare. Embracing the darkness in his beautiful eyes, she drifted back into the black.

—

Gasping up toward the ceiling, Ivar's eyes slammed open, his body surged up from the mattress as he sucked air into his lungs. His hand shot to his bare chest, searching for the strike. Finding the smooth skin unbroken with no arrow protruding, he exhaled and slumped back onto the bed. Disorientated, his eyes darted around their chambre as he lay still, struggling to make sense of the sting he felt in his chest. It felt so real.

"I am so sorry, King Ivar, for waking you," a thrall named Ursa rushed. Straightening from where she crouched on the wooden floor, she rose quickly, hurrying back from his side of the bed. "I know you have not been sleeping long, I am sorry."

"Aethelswith," he whispered and snapped his head over to look. Laying still on her back and wearing a thin nightgown, her wavy hair was loosely plated and her face was tilted in his direction. The neatly folded washcloth across her forehead told him one of the many healers, working in shifts, had recently been in.

Digging his elbows down into the bed, he hurried onto his side and pressed his lips to her tepid cheek. Still in the fog of sleep, he was surprised, half expecting her skin to be ice cold like the black water in his dream. Lowering his eyes from her peaceful face, he watched her breath move her chest. Her temperature had broken and she had the slightest hint of colour sprouting on her cheeks.

"What!" he snarled, turning and glaring at the slave who now stood as far back from the bed as she could.

"King Ivar, I apologize," she whined. "King Harald is in the hall...growing impatient... agitated. He is insisting, insisting," she repeated. "He says he will not leave until he speaks with you about Lady Aethelswith. My king," she dropped the volume of her voice. "I heard him speaking with his men. He wants to take her."

.


	12. Chapter 12

With Hvitserk sitting on the trunk at the end of their bed, sword in hand, and the old healer in a chair at Aethelswith's side, Ivar closed the door behind him, nodding at the two guards standing on their posts. Moving down the passageway, he passed two more guards standing in the corridor at the entrance to the hall.

Leaning on his crutch, he limped toward Harald who sat in one of four chairs in front of the hall's unlit fireplace. Scanning the room and the guarded main doors, Ivar saw that Harald had brought only one man. The guy stood just inside the entrance and looked at ease. Loni approached, taking a spot next to the mantle as Ivar lowered himself into a chair across from a pensive looking Harald.

Waving off the attempt of a thrall to hand him a full horn, Ivar gripped his belt just beside his ax. Despite being king and sitting in his own home, he was aware that Harald held a position of strength with many ships in Kattegat's harbour and a formidable army back in his kingdom. It would be careless of him to forget that he sat on Kattegat's throne because of the old warrior-king's aid but staring at the bearded man now, Ivar's silence and hand resting next to his weapon conveyed an unblurred threat.

"How is she?" Harald asked, his elbows resting on his knees, hands rubbing together as a father might waiting on news of the birth of their child.

How dare you, Ivar wanted to scream, fighting the urge to drive his ax into the top of Harald's neatly plated hair.

"She is not dead," he instead replied, the word yet hanging in the air between them.

"Last winter," Harald cleared his throat, looking down at the table between them, "many of my people fell ill with a sickness that the healers could not name. They could not contain it even with the sick moved into tents away from the general population. It took many women and children, even strong men from my army. An old healer came to me and explained using simple water to wipe the hands of those treating the ailing would limit the number of sick. Simple water," he looked back up, raising his hands as if astonished. "Despite me trivializing this simple notion, it did, in fact, help."

"Is there a point to this?" Ivar's asked, his expression unmoved.

Leaning back in his chair, Harald continued as if oblivious to Ivar's tension. "She treated the sick, and some appeared beyond recovery, with a powder derived from a dried fungus. Many were brought back from the brink of death."

"You insinuate my healers have not tried remedies," he eyed Harald, lifting his brows expectantly.

"She has been sick over a month, Ivar. This woman, Tarin, is far more experienced than the average healer. She may be able to help Aethelswith. I could take her..."

"Harald," Ivar interrupted, narrowing his eyes, "why would this woman not come to Kattegat? If you feel so inclined to help."

"It is not so simple, she is aged now, and I could not possibly leave my people without care in her absence."

"No," Ivar replied, glancing away dismissively.

"Ivar."

"No," he looked back at Harald, his hand squeezing his belt.

"I am returning home in three days time. My ships require maintenance and restocking before the start of raiding season. I must, after being away, be visible on my throne. As you know, these are complicated times."

"Harald," Ivar clucked his tongue, tipping his head to one side. "Did you truly believe I would hand my wife over to you? And, in such a vulnerable state, hmm?"

"If it might save her life, yes, I think enough of you to believe you could set aside your pride for such a cause. For her."

"Pride?" his voice shot high, his eyes widened in disbelief. "My entire life I have set aside my pride, but I will never set aside my good sense. I am no fool," pressing his lips together, he shook his head again, his skin heating from the brazenness of the ambitious king. How dare he talk about his beloved, he thought and as she lay wilting away in an unwakeable sleep.

"Then come," Harald threw up a hand, "if you do not trust me."

"And leave my kingdom unruled with word spreading that my queen is unwell?"

"Are you not raiding this year?"

"I am needed here," Ivar answered, again looking away.

"You are making a mistake, Ivar. If you care.."

"Do not!" he barked, leaning forward in his chair, pointing his finger at Harald, "question my devotion to her. None of this is your concern."

"I understand, I do. You are young. You have never been in love like this before."

"NO ONE!" Ivar shouted, "has been in love like this before." Eyes boring into Harald, he sat glaring, the skin on his face burning hot. "Now," looking over to Loni, he paused as if allowing himself a moment to settle, "to maintain the peace and continued relations between our kingdoms," he looked back, clearing his throat, "I suggest you leave at dawn tomorrow and do not speak of this again. I will see that she has the best care here," he brought his finger down tapping the top of the armrest, "in our home."

"Very well," Harald nodded with acceptance. "As she is your woman, it is your decision." Nodding again, he glanced over to his man waiting near the hall doors. Standing and adjusting his belt, Harald moved out from between the chair and the table and walked away from Ivar. "I will return to our camp as there are ships to load with such an early departure." Stopping, he turned back to look at Ivar. "I wish her a full recovery, Ivar. Aethelswith is a remarkable, charming woman," he shook his head softly. "Beautiful and intelligent."

Without replying Ivar's teeth clenched, his hand out of habit moving to the handle of his ax.

"Two things she is not, though," Harald continued, "she is not your queen or your wife."

With that he turned and walked to the hall doors, stepping out into the light of morning.

Lurching forward, Ivar pushed on his crutch to stand, stepping in the direction of the doors with Loni following behind.

"Ivar!" Hvitserk called from the mouth of the corridor. "It's Aethelswith."

Snapping his head over to look, Ivar's eyes flashed wide.

"Come, she's awake and asking for you."

\-----

"Oh, my lady," Freydis mewed, holding Aethelswith's small hand as she sat perched on the edge of the bed. The oldest healer, Ida, was out in the hall directing the thralls to hurry and bring heated broth and hot water for the tub. "It is so good to see you awake." Leaning forward, Freydis smiled sweetly, her forehead showing lines of worry. "We have all been so concerned."

Laying perfectly still, Aethelswith's eyes were open just enough to make out the outline of the young thrall, her face coming into focus as she leaned close. Attempting to speak, Aethelswith gave up, saving both her strength and the discomfort of using her dry, hoarse throat again. Having already called for Ivar, she felt no need to converse with anyone else.

"My lady," frowning, Freydis glanced down at their held hands, shaking her head quickly. "I must tell you that I have been foolish. I have behaved so terribly and it's all I have been able to think about...."

"Out!" Ivar ordered as he shuffled into the room; Hvitserk stepping in behind.

Placing Aethelswith's hand back on the cover, Freydis scurried away from the bed, giving Ivar room to approach before disappearing out into the hall. Hurrying to his side of the bed, Ivar dropped his crutch and fell forward onto his stomach, pulling himself toward her. She greeted his panicked face with a smile.

"My sweet," he sighed with relief, pressing his lips to her gaunt cheek and carefully resting his arm over her waist. Reaching up, she brought the palm of her hand to his cheek, her eyes closing at the feel of his warm, smooth face.

"Open your eyes," Ivar rushed as if she might again slip away.

"Let me enjoy the feel of your skin," her eyes fluttered open, her gaze struggling to focus on his bright eyes. "I lost track of time and the days, but I know it's been too long since I have touched your handsome face. I was not even graced with a dream of you," she gave him a weak smile, her strength beginning to fade. "How very cruel," she added, her mouth dry and her skin looking ashen.

"You have been in my dreams, but I can tell you that nothing compares to having you like this," he gently squeezed her, "awake and speaking. Gods," he groaned. "I will never again complain about how pedantic you can be," he grinned, every part of his being feeling whole and grateful.

"I will go," Hvitserk spoke, standing awkwardly at the foot of the bed.

Glancing over his shoulder, Ivar nodded. "Find Loni and get the details. Head to the docks and observe."

Nodding, Hvitserk headed to the door but hesitated, looking back. "It is good to see you are feeling better Aethelswith."

Eyes drifting over to him, her small smile relayed her thanks before he headed out the door.

"How do you feel?" Ivar asked, his eyes roaming her slender face, her cheekbones more defined and her eyes appearing deeply set.

"Mmm," she let her lids fall closed again as if reacquainting with her body. Sighing gently, she looked back to Ivar, his face showing the signs of his own exhaustion. "Tired, thirsty, maybe....a little hungry."

"Hungry?" he repeated, his expression brightening. Turning his head, he shouted at the door, "Slave! Bring food!"

"No, no, no," Ida raced into the chamber as if she had been waiting just outside. "My king, her stomach is empty. We have only managed to get water and broth, and sips of sweet milk into her for weeks and weeks."

"She said she is hungry," he glared at the old woman. "And she is your queen."

"She is also my patient and food will do her stomach more harm than good."

Grumbling under his breath, he looked back to Aethelswith. "Fine," he snipped not look back to the healer. "Off you go then. Get what you think she needs," he flicked his head, motioning toward the door.

Not wasting a moment, Ida spun on her heel and rushed in the direction of the kitchen. Heaviness returned to Ivar's face as he watched Aethelswith's eyes close again, her chest rising and falling with her shallow breathing.

"My sweet," he jostled her with his arm.

"I am here," she whispered, "just resting until you are finished yelling at everyone."

"I am sorry," he uttered, lowering his lips to her face. "But stay awake. I forbid you from ever sleeping again. You have had enough. Any more and I'll break into your dreams and haul your beautiful ass back."

"Agreed," she answered quietly, still not opening her eyes.

Returning to the room, Ida and Freydis entered, Ida with a stack of folded linens and a jar of what looked like oil. Freydis carried a full tray with pitchers of water and sweet milk, a steaming bowl of bone broth along with a clay vase filled with white flowers. Setting the tray down on the desk, Freydis cautiously approached the bed, placing the vase on Aethelswith's night-table.

"For you, my queen," she whispered making Ivar roll his eyes. Backing away, she hurried over to the far side of the room to help prepare the bath.

"They are lovely," Aethelswith squinted trying to make out the flowers in the bouquet. Glancing back to Ivar, she studied his sour face. "My love," she spoke softly, "Be nice."

"No."

"My queen," Ida interrupted, "first things first," dropping the stack of sheets on the foot of the bed, she approached Aethelswith.

Retracing his arm, Ivar rolled onto his side, not moving away and not carrying that he was sprawled out on the bed with thralls coming and going carrying buckets of steaming water.

"We will sit you up higher on your pillow and try some broth. It will," her kind green eyes flashed Aethelswith a warning, "shock your stomach but we will have a bath ready and will change the bedding and your nappy all at once."

"Wha?" Aethelswith's eyes widened.

Walking back to the desk, Ida grabbed the bowl of soup and wrapped a cloth around the edge to shield her hands from its heat.

"A nappy?" she looked over to Ivar. "How humiliating," she whimpered.

"Shh, do not think about it," Ivar murmured in a low voice. "You have not been able to get out of bed. Everything is fine." Pressing his lips to her forehead, he pushed himself up higher to sit. "Ready?" he peered down, reaching under her arms and sliding her up to sit against the pillow.

"Here we are," Ida approached, sliding a stool closer to the bed and lowering to sit. Dipping a spoon into the dark liquid, she leaned forward, bringing it to Aethelswith's lips.

"Was that tried?" Ivar asked, lifting a hand for Ida to wait; Aethelswith, glanced up to Ivar, confused.

"Of course, King Ivar, like everything else. I swear. Freydis tasted it in front of both me and Birgit," she replied in a calm voice.

"You make Freydis test my food?" Aethelswith stared up in disbelief.

Not meeting her gaze, Ivar jerked his head for Ida to continue.

"Okay, my dear," Ida began again. "There is nothing like a bowl of marrow soup, a hot bath, and a foot massage to get the blood moving."

Tipping her chin forward, Aethelswith slurped back the brown, clear liquid from the spoon. The flavour was bold, with a slick of fat that coated the roof of her mouth. Puckering her cheeks, her face contorted from its rich flavour.

"That face is the reason we are starting with only a few small sips. We want to stir that little tummy of yours, not fill it. A few mouthfuls of this goodness and you will feel reborn."

\---

As if the old healer's words roused the wrath of death, within hours, Aethelswith lay on her side, her eyes rolled back in her head, her tiny form curled up with convulsions. Her body, again, waging war on itself. With a protective arm tight around her,l and his other hand wielding a knife, Ivar snarled and snapped like a cornered, rabid dog, screaming at the helpless healer, thralls and his brother to stay back and to leave her alone and that no one was ever going to touch her again.

.


	13. Chapter 13

The weeks dragged on and Aethelswith continued to deteriorate; her weakening body struggling to fight the attacks of the illness, with the hours of reprieve few and fleeting. In those moments when she would stir or wake, the peace was short-lived, the violent toils of the unknown affliction pulling her back and holding her down.

After just one night of struggling to care for her, Ivar buckled, allowing the old healer and one assistant back in and limiting the number of thralls. And, despite Ida and Freydis working and moving her limbs each morning and night, Aethelswith's skin-and-bone body had begun to atrophy, her flesh and the whites of her eyes showing a tinge of yellow.

Her sight was entirely gone and, in those moments, when she could be roused, she woke confused and panicked, crying for Ivar, begging him to stop some brightness she said was burning her eyes. Attempting to soothe and comfort, he would hold her close, whisper that he was there, that she was brave and strong, and how much he loved her. He would try and coax her, with the help of Ida, to take sips of water or honeyed milk but in spite of her body wilting away, any scarce amount she could take in was instantly rejected.

The early autumn weather was not yet cold, but charcoal was kept smoldering in the fireplace to help mask the smell of her failing system, and the days and nights spent in bed left open sores on her backside. The unspoken question flashed in the sideways glances of everyone but Ivar, all shaken, wondering how much more their sweet queen could suffer. But somehow, she held on. 

After months of the same agony, news of her dire condition spread through the city, reaching villages beyond. People braced for word, feeling as if their own fate was somehow tied to the survival of the king's beloved. At dawn, each day, flowers, small gifts and various tokens of affection were collected from outside the doors of the permanently closed hall. It was all the villagers and merchants could do to express their worry and hopes for her recovery.

In addition to cooking and running the kitchen, Birgit, had stepped in to oversee the slaves and manage the hall. She would rush out early and collect the gifts, hiding them from Ivar, afraid he would see them as offerings of condolences.

Only a select few were permitted in their chambre aside from Ida and Birgit, occasionally Freydis, Hvitserk and a couple of favored thralls. Nana and Gussr would sit at her bedside, often for hours and Brana would read from books, brush her hair and help with the washing down of her body.

Shielding his brother from the pull of duty, Hvitserk took on the training of the army and, with the help of Loni, tended to the city and trade disputes, while Ruud oversaw the ongoing wall construction.

Life in the city had changed; the streets were quiet, and people moved cautiously, tense with the anticipation of what was to come. A fog of sadness had settled around the hall, suffocating and dangerous. The thralls would scurry through the corridors, fearful of catching the king's eye, his wrath sharp below his strained, brittle, exhaustion. Few hours in his day were spent away from Aethelswith and when he did enter the hall, he would sit at a table alone, avoiding the throne chairs entirely.

On the rare night that he would emerge, leaving Ida at her side, he would drink himself into a stupor and smash anything he could reach. On more than one occasion, he'd use the walls of the hall as a target for his axes, inevitably being dragged back to his bed by his brother.

Taking a chair in the corner, Hvitserk would sit and stay close, watching as Ivar screamed at Aethelswith's fragile, sleeping form. In his tirades, he would demand that she wake-up and shout that she was not permitted to ever leave him. He would weep and sob, kiss her hands and stroke her tied back hair, promise to love her how she deserved, swearing off his selfishness and cruelty forever. He would shout and curse the Gods, pray and plead for Odin to spare her, but with no change, no signs, not a single mark of improvement, the killings began.

It started with goats, and various animals, so great in number it depleted their winter stores. He then ordered every farmer in Kattegat to hand over an offering for sacrifice. It escalated to horses and before long Ivar was fixated on sourcing rare, exotic animals brought in on boats from far away lands, all in hopes of appeasing the Gods.

With no results, his desperation grew and he began to offer the blood of slaves. It was a sacrificial massacre and a chill could be felt through what was now called the red city. The slaver's boats continued to sail in, the traders rubbing their greedy hands together knowing the enamoured king would take the whole lot, dickering little on price. People were afraid, the neighbouring kingdoms on alert and all questioned the soundness of Ivar's unraveling mind.

Not a single person tracked the grave situation closer than Harald Finehair. The ambitious king with a vested interest in the city had personally experienced the enchantment of Aethelswith. Further, he had witnessed the grip of Ivar's devotion. The order had been made that any news coming from the city, any update on her or the king's diminishing capacity was to be brought to him with haste. Harald could not help but wonder without Aethelswith at Ivar's side, tempering his madness and bolstering his nerve, how quickly would his stronghold on the throne crumble? How quickly would war begin and kingdoms fall if Ivar found her in the arms of another?

\----

Entering the room, Ivar halted at the sight of an unfamiliar woman speaking to Ida in a hushed tone. Standing off to one side of the bed, the two had their heads together in discussion. They appeared similar in age but unlike Ida's plain face and white hair tucked back in a bun, this woman wore her grey hair down, and her wrinkled eyes were lined crudely with coal. Around her neck hung necklaces beaded with the vertebrae of small animals and her green woven wrap, still around her shoulders, told Ivar she had only just arrived.

"Who is this?" he snapped, his tone demanding. Glancing over to Aethelswith, he saw that she was still under the veil of sleep, her lips mumbling in some inaudible trance.

"This is Tarin," Ida answered, her voice sounding reserved. "She has traveled here from Vestfold to help care for Lady Aethelswith."

"No," Ivar whispered still staring at Aethelswith, watching her eyes dart side to side under her closed lids. Shaking his head, he looked back to the women. Lifting his brows, he repeated, "No."

Stepping around to face him, Tarin opened her mouth to speak.

"No!" he barked, "and I will not be questioned."

Looking down at her clutched hands, Ida said nothing.

"King Ivar," Tarin spoke up, "I have been the healer in King Harald's city for many years, longer than you have been alive. King Harald only wants..."

"Harald wants to spy and I will NOT have strangers caring for my wife."

"And you!" Ivar looked at Ida, her face lifting to meet his glare. "You know better than this."

"King Ivar, Tarin was explaining a technique that may help loosen the hold of the sickness."

Ivar's eyes flicked back to Tarin.

Clearing her throat, the strange woman nodded to Ivar. "A deep cut is made in the fleshy part of the foot and blood drained to..."

"You want to bleed her?" he narrowed his eyes. "You want to open the bottoms of her feet and bleed her?" his face hardened. "I will fucking bleed you! he screamed.

The eyes of both women flashed wide.

"Get out! Both of you! No one touches her anymore. No one. GET OUT!"

"Ivar?" Aethelswith's frail voice called from the bed, her eyes cracking open and searching the ceiling above that she could not see.

As the two healers raced past and out the door, he moved in her direction. "I am here. Everything is fine."

\----

Responding to the two abrupt knocks, Brana opened the front door of her modest home, startled to see Ivar standing on the chunk of wood used as her front step.

His eyes were round with apprehension and she froze, calming the fear that flared inside, telling herself if something had happened, it would not be Ivar at her door with the news.

"Can I enter?" he asked, his gaze not wavering.

"Of course," she snapped into action. "My apologies, of course. Please come in." Standing to the side, she pushed the door wide, glancing up to the street where Loni waited with the chariot. The two exchanged a look and he answered her unspoken question with the lift of his shoulders, he did not know why they were there.

Standing, at the centre of the room, Ivar waited as she rushed toward her table, pulling out a chair for him. "Please sit. I will get you something to drink. Are you hungry?"

"No, nothing for me. I will not be long."

Standing at the opposite side of the table, she paused giving him time to settle. Lowering himself into the chair, he jerked his head for her to take the seat across.

The air felt strained and it occurred to her, as they sat facing each other, just how entwined their lives had been for nearly eight years. She had been one of the only witnesses to his struggles and triumphs and him finding love, all from the sidelines of his brutal world. And there they were now, bound by tragedy of the most intimate kind, placing them for the first time at the same table.

Closing his eyes, he slowly exhaled, Brana not missing how the helplessness had aged him. Looking down at his hand, his thumb traced a groove in the grain of the wood, and he cleared his throat as if to prepare.

"We are the two people that Aethelswith loves the most. Gussr and Nana too but they are old and seeing her as she is..." he sighed with exhaustion, "it is killing him."

Saying nothing, Brana nodded with understanding.

"I released you from service but would you come back and help care for her... full time. I will have a room made up in the hall for you and Loni to use as your own. I...just..," looking away, he shook his head as if he had lost the words. Taking another deep breath, it felt to Brana he was mustering the strength to continue. "Will you help me care for her?" His eyes met hers again. "I will no longer allow slaves and strange healers to touch her. Just us, the people who love her and know her heart. My beautiful Aethelswith is dying, Brana. I know this and it will be any day. Help me, help her die."

The tears broke on either side of the table, running hot down their cheeks and both lowered their eyes knowing the pain in the other's face would pitch them over the edge.

"It would be my honour, King Ivar," she whispered in a shaky voice.

"Brana," he said, their eyes meeting, shining with emotion, "it's just Ivar."

.


	14. Chapter 14

"Oh!" Freydis gasped, turning to look at Brana.

"Did not mean to startle you," Brana said, circling Freydis where she knelt on the grass in a large patch of wildflowers. In one of her gloved hands was a small knife from the kitchen.

"Is this where the flowers in Aethelswith's room come from each week?"

"It is," Freydis smiled. "It might be silly; I realize she cannot see but I feel like I can do little else to help. Plus, it is such a lovely day, I am enjoying being outside."

She moved her two baskets of flowers to her other side, one partially filled with colourful mixed varieties and the other held pure white flowers with thick, green stems.

Noticing Brana's eyes on the baskets, Freydis smiled again, "The wildflowers are for the hall but the white ones are all for Lady Aethelswith. They are her favourite."

"That is thoughtful of you, Freydis. Thank you."

"Of course, she is my queen. Sit," Freydis patted the grass beside her. "It feels uncivilized to stand while visiting."

"I will stand. This is an official visit."

Tipping her face up, Freydis waited for Brana to continue.

"Ivar released the healers."

"Little good they did anyway."

"King Ivar and I will care for her now."

Closing her eyes for a moment, Freydis nodded, "We can work in shifts. The King, of course, will be with her at night."

"King Ivar and I will nurse her alone. You now work under Brigit; however, she sees fit."

"I must insist that I stay with my queen. I cannot leave her while she is in this condition. She has been so kind to me, and I swore to serve her."

"Until the hall re-opens, you will help with store preparations for the winter and anything else that Brigit needs."

Looking away, Freydis stared off into the distance over the sloped meadow bordered by tall evergreens.

"Will that be a problem?" Brana pressed, her cool blue eyes staying fixed on Freydis.

"Of course not," she replied quietly, glancing back. "Wherever I am needed."

"Good. Before you return, would you collect some of the blue flowers with the orange centers? They are Forget-Me-Nots. I, too, know my queen."

\----

Shuffling through the wooden chimes, the smell of bile scratched his throat, making his nostrils burn. Stopping, he fought the urge to retreat. The fact that he was standing in the putrid little shack, seeking answers from the old man was proof he had exhausted all other means and the realization nearly turned his stomach. But there had been no signs following his offerings to the Gods, no voices or apparitions giving guidance or warning. The silence after all he had done left him wondering if Ragnar truly had been a decedent. Or, perhaps his own life was, in fact, cursed. 

After weeks of sacrifice and urgent appeals, her death still felt promised. At night the dreams of the stag and dark waters, faceless huntsmen had morphed into sheer blackness, with the sardonic laughter of a woman, surely Frigg, mocking his attempts at reweaving their fate.

This could not be their destiny though. He refused to believe that he had received this extraordinary gift only to have it taken. She was everything, his reward, his life, not punishment for his rage; he had to end her suffering.

The Gods would be wrong to take her, he thought. The All-Father wrong. They had never felt her spirit in their rough hands, or kissed her perfect lips or had their cold, bitter hearts warmed by her endless understanding. Closing his eyes, he listened to the wind howl, inhaling through his mouth in an attempt to escape the stench. Panic knocked within his chest as he thought how no man, not even one with the heart of a beast, could survive losing her. His beloved was being extinguished and the Seer had to have answers.

"I have been waiting for you, Ivar," a voice came from the cloaked figure on the far side of the room.

"The Gods told you I would come?"

"No, your thoughts are loud boy king."

"I am no boy," he sneered, looking at the sooty mouth of the Seer's distorted face.

"All men are boys when you are hundreds of years old," he rasped back. 

Holding his tongue, Ivar stood in place, goose-flesh spreading beneath his leathers. Despite the small, crackling fire, the shack was ice cold. With a huff, he moved forward, shuffling his crutch through the clutter, dropping to sit on a coarsely made bench.

"Tell me," he exhaled through his nose, preparing his question. "Tell me what you foresee?"

"Only what the Gods allow me."

Glaring, he rolled his neck, resisting the urge to run his blade through the melted skin on the old fool's face.

"Talk!" he snapped, his nostrils flaring as he inhaled more of the smell of piss.

"You dare stir Odin through the gates of Valhalla?" His voice sounded amused. "To save your Christian?"

"Tell me, old man," Ivar repeated. "What do they require?"

"Everything," the seer laughed, his chest crackling with phlegm. "To win the favour of the Gods you must appease them, but you already knew that."

Frustration and rage threatened to spill as Ivar boiled away within.

"This is the last place I would be if I knew what they wanted," he spoke through gritted teeth. "I have drained the blood of dozens. Countless animals too. I do this to honour them. For her."

"Hah," he croaked, hacking again. "Conceit is like the bones of a scaled fish, young Ivar. Hard to unswallow. You drained that blood for yourself."

"I did it for her," he hissed, pointing his finger.

"Yourself."

"Then tell me what to do. I cannot lose her."

"And yet, she drinks the poison your kingdom pours."

Narrowing his eyes, Ivar shook his head, not understanding. "What are you talking about? My kingdom... They refuse to save her and yet they have the power. What must I do?"

"The Gods do favour courageous women. They see your princess and what she bears. The question is not, will the Gods save her. It is, what will Ivar the Boneless give for love?"

"Blood. Gold. Anything."

The old man's laugh erupted again settling with a cough. "The Gods sail through oceans of blood. Their boats are cast from gold. They have no interest in your spills."

"What do they want!" Ivar shouted in frustration.

"They require the greatest sacrifice for such a call. To settle the seas of your vanity."

"Fine. Who?"

"A king," the ancient one answered as if it was obvious.

"Finehair."

"You insult the Gods. The thirst of Harald Finehair may turn your harbour red but his life will not appease them." Pausing, he tilted his eyeless face up as if listening to the wind.

"I will cut down anyone I must. She is my everything."

"No, she was your beginning and now your fates are tied in the undoing of your making, son of Ragnar. You must choose."

"Choose what?" he snapped.

"To live or to die."

"I choose for her to live."

The Seer shook his cloaked head, "Little birds will perch again when you lay your gold at the feet of Odin."

Squeezing the ax at his side, Ivar's patience was done. 

"Ivar, sacrifice does not part a union forged in love and a woman's love burns in the lining of her heart. Hers, your princess, it burns even in her small bones and tiny womb."

"Enough of your riddles! What kind of sacrifice must I make?"

"The ultimate," the Seer spat back.

"Who needs to die for her to live?"

"You, my King."

.


	15. Chapter 15

"That girl," Brana clucked her tongue, "I am afraid that I am siding with Ivar on this."

Murmuring, Aethelswith's face flinched, her eyelids fluttering open, attempting but unable to focus. Reaching forward, Brana touched her thin arm, letting her know she was near.

"You must always take care of him," Aethelswith whispered, her voice raspy from lack of use.

"Ivar?"

She did not reply.

"I have seen nothing but improvement in you over the last few days. You, my friend, can care for him yourself."

The slightest shift of Aethelswith's features, a sliver of brightness told Brana that she was amused.

Leaning closer, Brana studied her gaunt face, her skin still a pale shade of yellow, "I will admit, only to you, that I questioned what you saw in him. I feared for you even." Straightening her back, she gazed down, her thumb rubbing circles on Aethelswith's tiny wrists. "What was it, in the end, that made you run through a field of swinging swords for him?"

Sighing, Aethelswith shifted her head, letting her eyelids close. "Different things..," she breathed. "I suppose I had felt too much of his heart to be able to return to my life." Flicking open her eyes, she stared up as if looking at the ceiling. "He had become a part of me."

"There is not a person in all of Kattegat who does not know the bond you two share."

"Hmm," she hummed quietly.

"Were you afraid to leave your family?"

"Yes," she replied clearly. "But not as afraid of never seeing him again." Laying still for a moment, she tried with difficulty to clear her throat. "Will you marry Loni?"

"At some point, yes," Brana smiled.

"You love each other very much too."

"We do," Brana nodded. "He is a good man. He eats anything I cook, brings wood in without asking, holds me at night. Easy on the eyes," she lifted her dark brows, laughing lightly. "It's a quiet love, not what you are used to. No impassioned fights followed by wild love-making and bleeding-heart ultimatums but..."

"So, it is a healthy union," Aethelswith whispered, her dry lips pulling back into a smile.

"Aethelswith, is that wit I detect? You are feeling better. It is so good to talk with you. Ivar rarely gives me the chance."

"Where is Ivar?" she looked in the direction of Brana's voice.

"In the hall, alone. Hopefully eating. He has barely left your side. He wants so badly to protect you."

"Hmm," she hummed again, "Before me, his mother was the only person he felt ever cared for him and he left her after she begged him not to. He returned to find that she had been shot in the back and he felt it was because he had not been there. He may not think of it when he is being demanding and unreasonable, but it has shaped his entire way of being. It is fear and under it all, he just loves me," her eyes closed again and she sighed, visibly tiring. "He may not move in a straight line but he always comes back to center...my Ivar," her voice drifted off.

"Aethelswith? Aethelswith?" Frowning, Brana swallowed back the tears pricking the corners of her eyes. Staring down, she watched Aethelswith slip back into sleep, unable to shake the memory of her mother's words, describing the burst of clarity that often came to those in their final days. Picking up Aethelswith's slight hand, Brana kissed the back, "Please sweet one, wake up."

Eyelashes fluttering again, Aethelswith fought her way up from rest, her eyes straining to open.

"That's it. Let us try and get something into your tummy before all this conversation knocks you out."

\----

Sitting on the floor, Ivar's unbound legs stretched out in front, his back and head rested against the side of the bed and in his hand, he held a stack of envelopes bundled with twine. Not bothering to dress, he sat in his sleeping clothes, the early morning air biting at his skin through the light linen. He needed to feel the chill, the cool air on his flesh, temper the burn he felt scorching his mind.

Daybreak was approaching and all was quiet; no steps could be heard in the corridor or commotion from the kitchen. No loud voices or wagons passing outside in the streets. Closing his eyes, he listened to her shallow, steady breathing as she lay behind him, tucked in under the covers. The hours had passed, and he had watched the darkness evaporate, slits of light beginning to illuminate the cracks in the closed shutters. Tomorrow would be the same and the day after that, the sun would rise, with one less pair of eyes as its witness.

So many lives he had taken and pain inflicted, so many families left behind broken. All in the name of victory and glory, and here he sat on the hard floor, on the last day of his life, resigned to his fate. Too small and too powerless to force death into retreat.

Shuddering, his stomach tightened, making him feel sick. Unable to find the words, he would stay there, on the cold ground, until he knew how to say goodbye to his beautiful Aethelswith. The agony of such a charge, at least, quelling any fear of his own end.

"Ivar?" her weak voice, rasped.

"I am here." Scrambling up, he pulled himself onto the bed, crawling to her side. "Right here, my sweet."

Shifting, he nestled in close, kissing her high on the temple. Sliding his hand under the cover, his fingers swept over her every pronounced rib. She did not turn to look at him, just stared up, blinking toward a ceiling still veiled in darkness from the illness.

Sighing at the feel of his embrace, she pressed her face against him, his nose rubbing along her cheek and breath loud in her ear. Inhaling as deeply as her lungs would allow, she breathed in again, silently praying that when God took her, he would allow her to keep the memory of his scent.

"Ivar?"

"Yes."

"There are things we need to say....while I am able."

Tensing, he lifted his head from the pillow, looking down at the sharp features of her face.

"Why do you say that?" he whispered.

"I feel like we must... prepare."

"You are talking about farewells."

"Yes..." she waited as if expecting him to object. "I have a journey to make."

Resting his head back to the pillow, he closed his eyes, attempting to hold back his tears. Even in death, he thought, his beloved, his princess and queen would be the one holding strong, helping him find his way. Reaching down, he took her small hand in his, the feel of it like parchment draped over bones.

"I have an admission to make," he said quietly. "I kept letters from you...from your brother, this entire time and I need you to know."

Tilting her face toward him, she said nothing, just listened.

"I had them translated every time one arrived. Five in total. I scrutinized every word, every detail, searching for any phrase that might convince you to return. I never did send a reply."

"What did Alfred say?"

"He expressed his grave concern for your safety and the soundness of your mind and decision. Suggested that I preyed on your vulnerability as my captive and your good nature, perhaps even placed you under some pagan spell."

"Sounds like Alfred," she whispered, her expression not changing.

"He questioned himself and if he had treated you as you deserved or ever properly acknowledged you as the remarkable person that you are. Spoke about mistakes he felt he had made, not putting his foot down with your mother. And...he was distressed by his decision to not send an army to bring you home. Worried it would haunt him until the end of his life. In every letter, he signed off by writing that he loved you, or missed you and that you always had a place at his side."

"I see," she said softly, laying still. "Thank you for telling me."

"I am sorry for keeping them from you; it was selfish and dishonest. I was so afraid you would leave."

"I know..." she exhaled, "I forgive you."

"You do?"

"Yes... After I am gone, please write to him...to Alfred. Tell him all the things you loved about me and what I meant to you. And please... tell him that in my final moments that I regretted nothing and I was always glad I followed you here. Please tell him that. It will ease his mind."

Knowing he could make no such promise, he said nothing, kissing the side of her cheek, hoping soon she would be well enough to make the voyage back to him.

Her eyes fell closed and her brows pinched together. "My love, your heart is racing. Here," she pressed closer to him, "hold me tighter, I will not break."

Hugging her carefully to him, he could feel the point of her hip bone, her stomach so flat, he imagined it rested on her spine. The condition of her body only pushed him, helped his resolve stay steady.

"You must find solace in your people," she continued quietly. "Do not lock yourself in this hall or sail away looking for blood. Share your pain with them, Ivar. They want to love you; I can feel it. You have been told all your life that your strength comes from your legs and your brutality, but that is wrong. Those people did not know you. Your strength comes from your heart. From your immense ability to feel. If you share that with your people, they will love you as I do. This, I promise."

The tears streaked down the sides of his eyes and he gasped trying not to sob. "You have taught me so much Aethelswith," he struggled, forcing out the words. "You, even more than my family taught me what it is to be Viking; to have courage, to be strong and that I was worthy of love. You are the greatest thing to have ever happened to me."

"Listen to me," she squeezed his hand. "Not once in my life did I think I could escape death and you need to know that I am not afraid. I will be brave, Ivar and only because you taught me how. And you, my love, are the greatest thing to have ever happened to me, and I pray that heaven feels as glorious as being with you."

"But I am afraid," he choked, his tears running and settling in the crease where their faces met, "afraid of being without you. You are the very heart that beats in my chest now and I am so grateful you kept us together. You gave me this life. You were all that ever mattered."

"Death will not part us. You told me that. We are forever altered because of each other. Stronger, wiser, softer and you now understand the vastness of your devotion. You will be left with all of that, and it will change everything."

"I cannot breathe without you."

"I know," she squeezed her eyes closed. "But I am tired and I need to go. You will keep me in your heart and that is where I will stay, inside of you. Breathing the air in your lungs, running in your thoughts. I will be there. You will see..."

"I am so sorry that you lived with my spite. It was all so meaningless. My selfishness and.... all the arguments. If I could go back..."

"Ivar, I always felt, always, that you simply wanted me close and that I was important. There is meaning in that."

"Gods," he looked up to the ceiling, shaking his head, "I cannot do this," he cried, his chest beginning to shake.

"You must Ivar and you will. You are the greatest man I have ever known and I would choose you all over again."

Pushing air out of his mouth, he fought to steady his voice, "I love you, Aethelswith, I love you."

"And I love you, Ivar. Forever."

Dawn broke as they lay still wrapped in each other's arms, casting reflections of light across the bed. His breathing began to settle, and as he held his beloved for the very last time, he knew by answering the call of the Gods, her strength was already returning.

"I need to sleep now...all this talking," she murmured. "Stay with me for a while and then go and get some fresh air. Yes?"

Lifting his head, he kissed the side of her forehead. "Of course, my sweet. I will stay until you fall asleep."

.


	16. Chapter 16

"Clear the hall!" Ivar yelled, crossing the room between the tables. "Now!" he shouted, limping in the direction of the thrones as the thralls rushed for the ways out.

Searching for the source of commotion, Brigit appeared in the threshold, and at the sight of Ivar kicked out the wedge at the base of the kitchen door, pulling it closed after the last slave scurried through.

Out!" he pointed at the guards standing inside the hall doors. "Lock it. Let no one in," he ordered, keeping his eyes on them as they filed outside, pushing the large panels shut.

Leaning heavily on his crutch, he climbed the steps, his movements were heavy and forced as if any pause or inhale of breath would snap his threadbare resolve. Grunting, he drove himself on, wanting so desperately to return to her and to their life, crawl back in beside his beautiful Aethelswith but the time had come. There would be no more words of love or regret, no more kisses goodbye, and he knew even forever together would not feel enough.

His hands and the skin on his face tingled, his heart pounded, and his mouth felt dry. Reaching the top, he grabbed the thin cushion from the seat, dropped down to sit and slammed it into his face to scream. He screamed and shrieked, cried for the future that they would never have. He cursed the Gods, he cursed his fate, he cursed his father for not having the strength to end his life. He cried that despite his sacrifice and blood that they would still spend eternity apart in their separate heavens with opposing Gods. He would never again be able to keep her safe and for his beloved, only the sting of his blade would bring her a bittersweet second chance. He had to end her suffering. Now.

Yelling outside the hall broke him from his spell. The door yanked open and Hvitserk pushed through, the large panels slamming closed behind. Rushing toward the steps, his eyes darted, scanning the empty room.

"Ivar?" Sprinting up, he stopped just below the top. "Is it Aethelswith?"

Unable to respond, Ivar shook his head.

"What then? What has happened?"

Glancing up to the rafters, Ivar closed his eyes, his face wet with tears.

"Brother, what can I do?"

"Nothing!" he roared, looking back to Hvitserk. "No one can do a thing. The Gods have spoken."

"What are you talking about?"

"You need to listen to me. To every word." Ivar pointed his finger, "Do exactly what I ask."

"What is this about?"

"Do you understand?" he shouted, pounding his fist down on the armrest.

"Yes, of course, brother."

"You must protect Kattegat. You must protect Aethelswith." Looking away, his eyes drifted to the entrance of the corridor.

"Ivar?"

"You will keep Brana and Loni in the hall, Gussr and Nana too if that is what she wants." He looked back to Hvitserk, his face threatening to crack. "Ask her what she wants and listen to her, but, no matter what, you form a guard around these walls. When order has been restored, take her to her brother Alfred. I trust that he will keep her safe but do not leave her side and return home until Burgred is dead. You must be the one to do it. You alone. I trust no one else with this task."

"Ivar, do not do anything you cannot undo. Go to the Seer."

"I have! It is my blood that will free her from this torment."

"Brother," tears began to fill Hvitserk's eyes. "My heart breaks for your pain, but please..."

"Will you do that for me?" Ivar's blue eyes pleaded, his chin starting to tremble.

"Yes...I will do whatever you ask, I will keep her safe, I swear," he nodded. "I will take her to her family and I will drive my sword through Burgred. I promise you, Ivar."

Jerking his head, Ivar slumped back into his chair, lowering his gaze to the floor. "I need you to go, now, and bring me mother's dagger. There is one last thing I will ask of you." Tears tipped over the edge of his lower lid, spilling down his cheeks. Not bothering to wipe them, he looked back up to Hvitserk. "You must be the one to offer my blood to Odin."

\------

"Loni!" Brana screamed flying out of Aethelswith's room. "Loni!" she cried with her hands up, racing down the passageway. Rounding the door from their room, Loni ran out into the corridor.

"What is wrong? Is it Aethelswith?" Grabbing her by the shoulders, he leaned in, searching her face.

"No, no, no. You must listen. I met Freydis carrying Aethelswith's tray in the hall. The flowers Loni! Those white flowers she always brings were on the tray, resting in the pitcher of milk; the vase was empty beside. I assumed, at first, that stupid girl was simply careless and not paying attention but when I took the tray and sent her away, it hit me. My mother!" Her eyes widened in horror. "She described that flower to me years ago when I was just a girl. I took the bunch out of the pitcher and smelled the stems," she shook her head, "and sure enough!"

"What?" Loni's eyes widened.

"Apricots! Apricots!" she gawked. "The first time I ever tasted an apricot, my mother laughed and told me that if my future husband ever brought me white flowers with the scent of an apricot, I needed to leave in the night."

"Why?"

"Poison! They are pure poison! That wretched, evil girl has been poisoning Aethelswith's milk! For months!" her mouth gaped. "Just when she gets well enough to drink or try a little food, we feed her more. I, myself, have fed her that poison!" Reaching up, she gripped onto Loni's forearms. "Get Ruud to guard Aethelswith and then find that girl," her eyes burned into Loni's. "I will tell Ivar."

"Ivar's locked himself into the hall, no one can enter."

"Then I will break down the doors."

.


	17. Chapter 17

Standing in the hall, Aethelswith clung to Ivar's arm; Hvitserk, on her far side, stood with his hand subtly outstretched as if she might, at any moment, lose her balance and tip over. Back straight against the wall, Brana waited near the entrance to the corridor, her expression was rigid, and her cold eyes stayed fixed on the hall doors.

Angling down, Ivar pressed a kiss to the top of Aethelswith's loosely braided hair, murmuring quiet praise and soft encouragement. Letting go of his arm, she adjusted the ties of her green dressing gown around her spare waist. The way the fabric draped from her weak posture gave her the appearance of a starved child; evidence that restored health was still a ways away.

At the sound of approaching voices, she squared her shoulders, lifting her chin, as Loni and Ruud shoved Freydis through the doors. Still wearing her beige dress, her hands were shackled in front and at the sight of Ivar, her eyes bulged with fear. Pushing her onward, they stopped a few meters back and she lowered her face in a futile attempt to avoid his scrutiny. Instinctively, Aethelswith reached back to Ivar and squeezed his arm, feeling his body tense and sensing his desire to drive his blade into the top of her skull.

Opening his mouth to speak, Aethelswith tightened her grip and glanced up to him, wordlessly conveying her insistence.

"You do not need to see any of this," he spoke quietly.

"But I do."

Looking back to a cowering Freydis, Aethelswith squinted, her sensitive eyes still adjusting to the return of her sight. Even with the glare of the sun streaming through the open doors, she could see the filth on Freydis' dress and hands and caked under her nails. Her skin looked grimy and her previously shiny hair was dull. Aethelswith wanted to laugh, cackle like a witch, noticing Freydis' dry, chapped lips, perhaps even offer her a damp cloth to suck water or poisoned milk from. She should take mercy, attempt to understand and possibly forgive but none of that felt brutal enough for a girl who had been working her nocuous plan from the start.

And yet, nothing about Freydis rotting in a dingy cell for weeks while Aethelswith recovered enough to attend her hearing, pleased her. She felt no satisfaction or sense of peace, only rage so rich, at times, it took her breath. The image of Ivar sitting on his throne moments from giving his life plagued her sleep. Even awake, it seemed burned into her mind, visible still when she closed her eyes.

And Freydis had done that; spoon-fed sadness and devastation to all those Aethelswith loved and as a result, forced Ivar to place a blade to his throat. Blinking away the image, she steadied her thoughts, hoping her voice sounded stronger than she felt.

"What do you have to say for yourself?" Letting go of Ivar's arm, she straightened, clasping her hands in front, her face entirely void of emotion.

"Please, my lady," Freydis whined, "I could not explain this to anyone but you. I did not want to do this; any of this. I was forced. I had no choice."

Air shot out of Ivar's nostrils and his body vibrated, holding back by only a thread. Frowning, Aethelswith stepped closer, uncertain of her meaning.

"He forced me!" Freydis squawked. "He made me do it."

"Who?" Aethelswith narrowed her eyes.

"Burgred!" Freydis cried.

"That's it!" Ivar roared, reaching for the ax on his belt.

Eyes flashing, Aethelswith's hand flew out to stop him, latching onto his wrist and pulling him closer to calm him. Grunting with both frustration and resignation, he stepped in behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist. Nodding, she squeezed his hand giving assurance that she was not phased.

"My lady," Freydis pleaded, lifting her shackled hands as if in prayer. "He threatened the life of my child sister. Keeps her like a whore...his carnal slave. Does all sorts of depraved things to her. Promised to release her if I did this, otherwise, he would kill her. She is only fifteen-years-old!" Freydis cried again. "You would do the same for your own flesh and blood, I know you would. You would poison anyone if it meant saving the life of someone you love. She is only a child!"

Horrified, Aethelswith covered her mouth, "I have known the brutality of that man," she nodded, lowering her hand, "I do understand the lengths a person would go to to escape it, I do," she nodded again.

Closing her eyes, Freydis shoulders settled with relief.

"Freydis, look at me?" Aethelswith called in a gentle tone. "Do I look stupid to you, though?" she lifted her brows. "Hmm?"

Frowning, Freydis shook her head, panic creeping back into her eyes.

"There is no question in my mind that you conspired with Burgred, and that you are, in fact, Saxon but I do not believe he has your sister." Lowering her chin, Aethelswith's expression hardened. "You are a power-hungry liar."

Disgusted, Ivar let out a threatening growl, the sound rumbling through Aethelswith's back. Stepping forward, Freydis lifted her hands like a beggar making Loni yank her back with a tug of the chain fastened to her cuffs.

"It was your husband's doing!" Freydis shouted, lifting her face in defiance.

"He is not my husband!" Aethelswith screamed. "You are standing in front of my husband. In fact," she pointed at the floor. "Kneel! Get onto your knees before the king."

Grabbing her shoulders, Loni shoved her down, Freydis squealing as she landed hard on the floor.

"Please," Freydis whimpered, looking back up.

"Further, Burgred does not care for little girls," Aethelswith sneered. "Does not care for girls at all," her eyes bore into Freydis, "As I learned on my wedding night when he took me like a man would take another man."

Freydis' eyes flashed at the revelation and every person in the room shifted on their feet. Hugging Aethelswith tighter to his front, Ivar leaned in pressing another kiss behind her ear, whispering how strong she was.

"Your stories fool no one." Aethelswith continued, her voice growing steadier. "Burgred wanted me dead and you wanted to be a queen, you stupid, stupid girl," she shook her head. "Did you truly believe you could take Ivar from me?" Raising her hand, she touched the faint scar across the top of her temple. "This will remind me, each day, how close I came to losing everything."

Turning her head, she pressed her face back against Ivar's chest.

"You are certain?" he asked in a low voice, his lips still touching her hair. At her nodded reply, he reached to his belt and withdrew the gold and ruby dagger from his scabbard, offering it for her to take.

"Hold her," Aethelswith ordered the men, taking the knife and stepping forward out from the security of Ivar's arms.

Panic struck and Freydis jolted forward, thrashing against Loni and Ruud's grip. Fighting, she spat and shrieked like a frenzied animal being pulled under water. Cinching up the chain, Ruud and Loni grabbed her under her arms, bracing her in place.

"Last words?" Aethelswith's asked staring down into her wild eyes.

"I ask our Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ to receive me," Freydis spat, out of breath from her struggle.

Reaching down, Ruud grabbed the hair at the nape of her neck, yanking her head back so she could not look away.

Pressing the edge of the blade to the skin of her taut throat, Aethelswith leaned closer.

"You have no god," she whispered, "and now you will bleed like the sheep that you are."

In one swift sweep, Aethelswith cut the width of her pale throat; Freydis' eyes flashing wide as dark blood spewed out, streaming down her front, the faintest sound of air rushing from the slit in her skin. Silently, Freydis' body sagged as her blood drained and her round blue eyes lost focus.

Grabbing Aethelswith from behind, Ivar spun her away, wrapping his arms around her, and hugged her to his chest. Collapsing against him, she let out a choked sob with the dagger still dangling in her hand.

Thick blood began to pool on the floor and Ivar led her away back to the base of the thrones. Without a word, Aethelswith stopped and turned to face him, peering up into his worried eyes. Clutching her arms, he leaned in, studying her shocked face, the colour now entirely drained from her cheeks. His eyes flitted down to the dagger she held in the palm of her bloodied hands.

"I used this knife in the way my grandfather intended, defending what is mine," she too glanced down at the blade. "I think he would be proud of me today. Are you proud of me?" she looked back up, searching his face, his bright eyes marveling down at her.

"Always."

Lifting the knife higher, she cleared her throat, "I give you this family knife...my grandfather's knife as a martial offering, stained with the blood of our enemies. I pledge my life and heart to you and promise that I will allow nothing to part us. Ever."

Leaning closer, he pressed his forehead to hers, his eyes alive with adoration.

"Ivar Ragnarsson, will you marry me?"

.


	18. Chapter 18

The door was yanked open with such force, it blew Hvitserk's hair out of place.

"What!" Ivar barked, standing on the threshold of his chamber, his ceremonial white tunic making him look especially commanding.

"Ivar."

"My bride is waiting for me, Hvitserk," he rasped, impatiently. 

"I am aware, I apologize, but ships have entered the harbour."

Straightening, his expression went slack. "How many?"

"Sixty-eight....so far."

"Fuck." Turning, he peered over his shoulder at Aethelswith who sat on the edge of the bed. Still in her ivory high-waisted gown, her hair hung loose in smooth curls out from under her pearl headpiece.

Tipping her head to one side, she scrunched her nose, her expression asking if all was well. Looking back to Hvitserk, Ivar pulled the door tight to his side, shielding her from view.

"Alfred does not have sixty-eight ships," Hvitserk continued. "Ten or twelve at the most."

Staring down at the floor, Ivar's shook his head. "It is my wedding day and there is only one man brazen enough to see it spoiled. Those ships belong to Finehair."

"Harald? But sixty-eight? He does not have his entire fleet in one place this early in the season...unless..."

"Bjorn!" they said in unison, locking eyes with each another.

"He wants Bjorn on the throne," Ivar added. "He is a simpleton and easy for Harald to control. What ever offer was dangled, Bjorn would not have been able to resist Kattegat."

"All the bloodshed just to replace one brother with another? There must be something else. What does Harald want? The port?"

Lifting his brows, Ivar stared at Hvitserk, pushing the door wide open, bringing Aethelswith into Hvitserk's line of sight.

"No," Hvitserk's mouth gaped, looking back to Ivar.

Ivar nodded.

"We will not let that happen," Hvitserk said, dropping the volume of his voice.

"How long until they reach the beach?"

"Just over two hours. Maybe longer."

"We will lose the light in four. Get Loni and Brana. Bring them here and then sound the horns."

"What is the order, Ivar?

"Prepare the army."

\---

Holding his sword steady, Hvitserk sprinted up the mucky path toward the gates on the North wall. When all were usually in their homes preparing for the last meal, the city, instead, was buzzing, preparing for battle. Villagers raced in all directions carrying baskets and weapons, and a young woman dashed out of a small thatched home, snatching up a toddler from the path.

"Ivar?" Hvitserk shouted as he reached the top of the slope. "Ivar?" he called again, spotting his brother standing, waiting, with Aethelswith sitting up on the chariot behind.

Stopping face to face with him, Hvitserk noticed that a bench, wide enough for two, had been built across Ivar's seat. Looking into Ivar's bright blue eyes, realization struck.

"What are you doing?" Hvitserk asked.

Nana and Gussr approached on the far side of the chariot, pulling Aethelswith's attention away. Raising his arm, Ivar flicked his hand, indicating for Hvitserk to follow him.

"Is everyone in place?" Ivar asked, stopping a few paces away, ignoring Hvitserk's question.

"Yes."

"How long?"

"The first ships will reach the dock in an hour." Hvitserk's eyes again darted to the chariot. "Are you going to tell me what is happening?"

The sounds of rattling wheels interrupted them as a flatbed wagon, pulled by two horses, passed by stopping behind the chariot. Driven by Loni with Brana sitting next, Hvitserk could see crates in the back, partially covered with a canvas, filled with what looked like provisions.

"Heading over the mountains to Gussr's son's near Gata," Ivar replied. "From there a boat west."

"You are sending her with Loni and Brana?" Glancing back, Hvitserk watched Aethelswith lean over the edge and embrace Gussr. An emotional looking Nana stood behind, drying her cheeks with a handkerchief.

"No."

Hvitserk eyes snapped back to Ivar's. "You are getting on the boat with them?" he asked already knowing the answer.

"Aethelswith deserves to see her brothers one last time and tell them, herself, about Burgred and our marriage. If Alfred loves her, and I believe he does, he will deliver justice to that snake. I will be there to see to it. Following that, I am not certain. Brana told Aethelswith about a place north called Dublin."

"You are surrendering." It was a statement.

"Never." Ivar frowned. "You have trained this army, and this is your chance to carve out your own legacy among selfish brothers."

"You want me to fight Bjorn and Harald?"

"I do."

"And, you are leaving the throne?"

"Your skinny ass will keep it warm," Ivar replied, a sparkle returning to his eyes.

"Will you be back, Ivar?"

"Perhaps."

"Why not stay and fight? They will not defeat us."

"I will not risk being parted from her. For anything," he adjusted his crutch under his arm. "My entire life I have felt that I had to fight. Had to show the world how ruthless I was, how cunning. This winter," he shook his head, "the finality of death....it all felt so...hallow. I never needed working legs or stacks of gold or to be the most famous king in Scandinavia, I needed Aethelswith and now I need to keep my family safe."

"You could lose your kingdom?"

"She is my kingdom."

"Ivar..." looking down, Hvitserk shifted his boot in the muck, "I underestimated you, brother."

"You would not be the first." With a quick nod, he turned and moved toward the chariot, sliding his crutch across the floor and dropping to sit. Unbuckling his braces, he slid them off and in beside him before turning and pulling himself up to sit next to Aethelswith.

Shifting on the seat, he lifted his arm for her to slide in close. Placing her hand on his thin thigh, she smiled as he wrapped his arm around her back, pulling her against him.

"You are certain?" she asked, resting the side of her face against his arm.

"I am," he replied, reaching forward to grab the lead.

"I love you," she whispered, glancing up at his profile.

Keeping his gaze forward he squeezed her tighter to his side. "I know."

Circling the chariot, Hvitserk, approached the side, stopping next to Nana and Gussr.

"Farewell sister," he bowed his head. "I hope to see you again."

Reaching her hand out, Hvitserk grabbed on. "Farewell Hvitserk," her soft blue eyes shone. "Be safe today. I know that you will lead well."

Nodding his thanks, he let go and Aethelswith returned her hand to rest, protectively, on her round tummy, barely noticeable through her heavy cloak. Picking up the reigns in one gloved hand, Ivar jerked his head to the guards, ahead, anxious to be underway.

"Ivar!" Hvitserk called out, stepping back to the chariot.

Both Ivar and Aethelswith turned to look.

"The Seer... he was right. It was never about Freydis or Burgred, or Harald for that mater. It was about Aethelswith; her strength to fight and her love for you, and the will of that little life inside her to survive the poison....and you," his eyes locked with Ivar's, "it was about you and what you would give for love. This Ivar, this," he raised his hands in the air, "is the ultimate sacrifice."

Looking over, Ivar studied her face, her rosy full cheeks and perfect bowed lips, strawberry flaxen hair, and face shaped like a heart. An unfamiliar feeling rolled through his body, spreading like the warmth of a flame. It was peace...contentment, a sensation confirming he was precisely where he needed to be, at her side, leaving the chaos and triviality behind.

The brightness in his eyes gave away his emotions as he stared into her beaming, grey-blue eyes; her pink lips softly smiling. Feeling the rise of tears, he quickly looked back to Hvitserk.

"Does not feel like I am sacrificing a thing."

Dipping down, he pressed his lips to hers, breathing in her sweet scent, finally, understanding that she had never been a prize or a reward for his suffering. Aethelswith was, in fact, his journey; the light guiding him to his destiny. Sweeping his eyes over her face once last time, he looked up and nodded his goodbyes.

Facing forward, they watched the guards pull the heavy gates open before signaling back that it was clear to go. With hearts filled with devotion and arms embracing the other, Ivar and Aethelswith looked ahead of the chariot, toward their uncertain future. Ivar cracked the reigns.

.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading. My story Emboite is my Ivar and Aethelswith modern AU. I’ve modernized her name and call her Sarah.


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